All That's Left Behind
by Bored Beyond Belief
Summary: Set postOotP: This is a story of Harry's quest for absolution. It is his reaction to Sirius' death and how his friends try to help him. Will Remus learn to reach out before it is too late? Still a work in progress, but currently on hold.
1. Dumbledore's Choice

**All That's Left Behind**

Author's Note: Here it is – an entirely new beginning. Set post-OotP, this is my take on how Harry deals with his grief. Hopefully you like it. Thank you as always for reading my work, and a special thanks go to Nicky15 and Wishweaver for their input and good sense! Cheers!

Disclaimer: You have no idea how much I wish Harry Potter were mine. There are definitely some things I'd be changing! :-D But alas, he is not.

**Chapter One - Dumbledore's Choice**

There was a time when, if asked, Harry Potter might have confided his feelings. In the first few weeks back on Privet Drive his emotions fluctuated wildly - from rage to utter devastation to unbearable guilt.

_My fault. All my fault_. It was so inescapably true. The blame lay entirely on him; through lack of understanding and a desperate need to help - to be a part of the fight against Voldemort. The need to do something, to assuage his own sense of failure at the senselessness of Cedric's death and to ease the guilt at his own part in Voldemort's rebirth was exactly what Voldemort had exploited.

He'd sought out that which Harry had cared most about – Sirius – and used his love and protectiveness to lure Harry away from the supposed safety of Hogwarts to the Department of Mysteries. In a twisted way, his fear of losing Sirius became a self-fulfilled prophesy.

In those first days, when the Dursleys were as quiet as church mice and tip-toed around Harry, careful to craft their sentences in such a way as to pretend he wasn't even there, he'd relished his new 'invisible' status. He drifted from his room to the bathroom and back in a haze, frozen in time. An owl came once every three days to deliver a blank parchment for Harry to reply about his welfare to the Order.

The letters from his friends warned that his correspondence was not secure and spoke of everyday things. The ones he got from Remus Lupin were so stilted and formal that Harry couldn't bear to read them. He didn't know what to say or how to be anymore, and since his letters would be monitored anyway, didn't bother to pretend. _I must not tell lies._

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he'd awaken, hardly able to breathe, so overwhelmed with grief and loss that he tucked his body into the corner of the room, trying to fold in on himself as he sobbed quietly, rocking back and forth with his toes as he hugged his knees to his chest.

Now that the initial shock had worn off (_how could it be over, just like that? He fell, that's all!_) all he seemed to do was cry – no matter how hard he tried not to. He hadn't fallen to pieces at Hogwarts, but unfortunately his shocked numbness hadn't lasted. Not when he was here, the one place where he was most alone.

He thought to try to put his feelings into words at first, maybe in a journal, but he felt so alien, so different, and all he could envision was Tom Riddle's handwriting seeping into the pages of his journal in reply, which was enough to squash that idea. Instead he internalized the pain, letting it all absorb into a giant black hole within which his heart now seemed centered.

He had so many horrific nightmares, both of his own creation and thanks to Voldemort, that he hardly slept more than a few hours at a time. He didn't bother looking in the mirror – he couldn't stand to see himself, and not just because he looked a ghoulish sight, with his waxy, pale skin and bloodshot eyes set in a too thin face, pinched with pain. He knew what he'd done. Sometimes he tried so hard not to cry that his fingernails tore into his palms, and all save the tiniest whine of pain was swallowed.

He kept trying to understand it all, to get a sense of what he was supposed to do now, and try to move past the overwhelming need to just disappear. He didn't want to be Harry Potter anymore. In truth he hadn't for a long time. All he'd ever wanted was to be loved, and now he felt like he never could be.

Too late, he understood how heavy the guilt had weighed on Sirius' shoulders. Words meant nothing when it truly was your fault. Not that he'd blamed Sirius, but he knew how much his godfather had blamed himself.

Now it was Harry's turn, and all he could think of was _all that time – wasted in prison_. Time he could have had with his godfather. But there would be no more opportunities. His luck had dried up, and there were no more near misses.

Azkaban had left its mark on Sirius, and perhaps his sanity. But Harry had loved him, and for the first time in his life he'd felt wanted – needed. Sirius had needed him, and now he was gone.

He didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to die, to disappear, to be anyone else. He daydreamed sometimes of trying to Obliviate himself, but knew he wouldn't. The prophesy was his burden, and as much as he wanted to follow Sirius through that Veil, he couldn't just run away. And more importantly – he wouldn't.

He tried to make sense of what was the next, the right course of action. Dumbledore's confession had left him feeling utterly alone. He'd _known_. He'd left Harry with the Dursleys knowing what his life was going to be like, and yet he did it anyway. He said he had done it for Harry's safety. He had chosen Harry's life over his happiness.

Well, Harry knew he'd choose differently, and he wasn't sure how to feel about all those years with the Dursleys. Dumbledore had been aware of what he was going through and had done nothing… Not even a warning when they'd gotten out of hand, which they had, more than once. The send-off Moody, Remus and the others had given at the station had been kind, but all Harry could think was _Why didn't he do that before, if he knew?_

He'd thought the Headmaster had cared, but no longer. By basically ignoring Harry, he'd sent that message this last year loud and clear – he was on his own. He'd tried to do what he thought was right. He'd wanted to help, and thought his dreams were something he could do.

If only he'd known about the prophesy: about the Department of Mysteries. The Headmaster's candor was too little too late, and all Harry could think was _he knew, he'd always known_ _about the Dursleys_ and couldn't help but wonder _did he know about Sirius' innocence, too?_ _What wouldn't Dumbledore do, for the right cause?_ Harry knew it wasn't fair to even think it, but he couldn't help it.

He'd said he'd loved Harry too much, and that Sirius had brought much of Kreacher's behavior on himself. There were too many secrets, things Harry felt he'd had a right to know – about his parents, about Sirius, even about Snape. Everyone had their limits. Wasn't he ever allowed to say _enough_? What about Sirius? How about expecting an escaped prisoner of Azkaban, wrongly imprisoned, reliving his worst memories for over a decade, to be calm and mature enough not to rise to Kreacher's bait? Snape was certainly never expected to act maturely!

Harry bit off that train of thought before the constant throbbing in his forehead turned into a full-fledged attack. There were few people in his life he truly hated, but Snape was officially among them. If only Dumbledore had explained to Harry about the importance of ignoring the dreams! _If only_…

The Headmaster was playing games with information, and Harry had tried so very hard to continue to do the right thing. It had worked out okay at first – until Cedric. But now he knew the truth. He'd been hung out to dry long ago. He was on his own, and always would be. Albus Dumbledore wasn't any sort of grandfatherly presence in his life; he was a chess master and Harry his pawn. But he was tired and sad, and missed Sirius more than life. He was sick of games, and realized it was his choice whether to continue to play.

Everything Harry touched fell to pieces, and at some point he must have decided to stop trying to reach out. It wasn't hard. His tears turned into silence and his internalized pain begun to solidify into something more tangible – not emptiness, but resolve. His life didn't make sense anymore unless he allowed himself to think of the prophesy as finishing what his mother started.

He should have died with his parents. His life up until now certainly pointed to that. The prophesy pointed to that. Life… _And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_… He had no life until one or both of them were dead.

Which left him thinking of strategy – his own, this time. There was no way he could ever match Voldemort's magical repertoire, and he knew it. He had no idea what _the power the Dark Lord knows not_ was, but he did know he had one key advantage… Voldemort had done, and continued to do everything in his power to become immortal. He was afraid of death. Harry wasn't. And as that realization settled over him, the part of him that still railed that it was all unfair stilled into defeated silence, and the pain in his soul for the loss of Sirius began to channel from introspection into determination. In a way, Sirius had chosen freedom over safety, and Harry agreed with the choice. In his own way, he would do the same.


	2. Setting the Course

**Author's Notes**: Sorry for the delay in getting this out. It took a bit to get what was bugging me out on the page, but I'm pretty happy with it now. I hope you enjoy, and that the chapter was worth the wait. Thanks to both Nicky15 for her fabulous input (and very sensible points), and to Wishweaver for her input. Any mistakes here are mine, not theirs! _g_

For those of you who've asked – yes, I am intending to pursue this story. How large it ends up being, I cannot be sure, but it has an outline and there are clear goals in mind. Hopefully the journey will be worth it.

More action will begin occurring within the next few chapters, so bear with me if this seems a bit too introspective. It will not always be this way (and who know, you might even miss it! :-D).

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Just for your information, I used to reply at the end of my chapters to everyone who'd left a review, but enough people got frustrated with how deceptive this made the length of my chapter that I stopped doing it. This does not mean I do not read and cherish every review. I do. It is deeply appreciated, and I thank you so much for taking the time to do so. Your words are most certainly heard.

**Disclaimer**: I wish I were the owner of Harry Potter, but alas, I am not. I am just borrowing him for my own personal enjoyment (but not like that, you pervos! g)

**All That's Left Behind**

**Chapter Two – Setting the Course**

Several weeks later, as Harry sat in his bedroom, staring at chapter six of _Practical Defensive Magic_, and realizing he'd already read it twice yet still had no idea what it was about,he suspected he was going cross-eyed. The book was part of a set that Remus and Sirius had given him for Christmas, and it pained him that he hadn't given them more than a cursory glance until this summer.

So far he'd been left mostly to his own devices – the constant drizzle that seemed determined to make up for last year's draught in a month's time left him stuck indoors (eventually he'd have to tackle the garden at least a little, but considered it would be a welcome reprieve from his usual routine), and as he elected to no longer even participate with meals with the Dursleys this kept him nearly the entire time upstairs in his room.

Education had never been a priority for him. Before Hogwarts, while his schoolmates dreamed of becoming doctors and firemen, Harry dreamt of getting out and finding a small apartment somewhere in London where he could people-watch to his heart's content and leave dishes in the sink overnight.

He'd known the Dursleys would never pay for any schooling for him, of course, and had planned, when he turned sixteen, to start looking for full-time employment. He hadn't been worried – he wasn't afraid of hard work, and in fact was rather curious how his work ethic compared to those around him. He'd learned early on, after all, that his home situation contrasted greatly with everyone else's, but in some ways was heartened by that rather than upset.

When he'd started at Hogwarts, 'The Boy Who Lived' title felt so familiar – so similar to 'four eyes' and 'scar face' – that he'd dismissed it as a label. It certainly didn't have anything to do with him. It was something that happened, rather than what he was supposed to be. It was a not-so-funny nickname. Growing up as a Muggle, he'd missed seeing how many expectations the Wizarding world had wrapped up into him. People felt he'd saved them, Harry eventually realized, and thought '_if he can stop Voldemort as a baby, imagine what he could do as an adult_'.

_I must be quite the disappointment_, he thought dryly. He'd never believed the hype because he knew better. He'd thought it absurd and a little pathetic that everyone thought he was going to save the Wizarding world. After all, ultimately it had been his blood that brought Voldemort back in the first place. He'd always known better – and he held that truth close to his heart. People would eventually figure out that he was just a boy, and not a very talented one at that, and then everything would go back to normal.

To Harry, Hogwarts wasn't about getting a good magical education; it was about experiencing life away from the Dursleys. It was an opportunity to do 'fun' things, and to discover how incredible friendships and freedom could be. Magic was still so new to him that he hadn't been able wrap his mind around taking his place within the Wizarding community. He hadn't been overly concerned about studying. After all, he had this whole new world to explore.

When Professor McGonagall had approached him last year, asking what he wanted to be when he grew up, he hadn't quite thought about it. Sure, he'd read up on some of the different Wizarding career paths with Hermione and Ron, but having Umbridge in his career counseling session had utterly distracted him from having any sort of meaningful conversations about it. The fact that his Head of House had nearly come to blows over his prospects as an Auror had been unsettling, to say the least, and only with hindsight could he look back a bit more fondly on how McGonagall had handled that beastly woman.

In her way, though, Umbridge had been quite right. Of course the Ministry would never have him - but more importantly, why would he want them to? He'd thrown out that day the possibility of becoming an Auror as a possible goal in much the same way, if he'd still been living as a Muggle, that he might have suggested being an ambulance driver. It sounded cool, but he had no true idea of what it entailed.

He'd seen how unfair the Ministry was in their dealings with Professor Lupin. It made his heart hurt to even contemplate what they'd done to Sirius. Poor Hagrid still wasn't allowed to have a wand, and for what? He'd never been charged with Moaning Myrtle's death – there had been only accusations. Harry had nearly been expelled and his wand snapped for defending himself against Dementors. No – he should have known better than to even think of being an Auror.

It was odd, but even as he had come to terms with being 'The Boy Who Lived', he'd still never truly internalized that he was destined to someday duel with Voldemort. Certainly he knew he'd have to face him again, but…

When he first had come to Hogwarts, for once in his life Harry hadn't felt entirely alone. He'd had friends and mentors; people that looked out for his welfare. Learning of the prophecy shattered that illusion forever. Had Headmaster Dumbledore ever cared? Probably, although most of the time Harry was too numb to truly worry much about it either way. But all this time: learning with the others, pretending he was like everyone else… In a cruel way, the Dursleys were right. It had been nothing but a dream.

It sounded grand, someday being part of the Order of the Phoenix; on the side of Light, battling for good - but now he finally understood. He couldn't be a _part _of anything. In the end, a teen-aged boy who hadn't even believed magic was real until he was eleven would eventually have to duel the darkest wizard of his time and win. It was going to come down to him, and all these years at Hogwarts he hadn't even been really trying to _learn _magic – not like he could have.

He held few hopes of surviving the encounter anyway, but five years of studying in much the same way as Hermione did surely would have helped. Manual labor was something he'd done all his life, but this intensive studying he was trying to do now… It was highly discouraging how much he tried to memorize and yet how little he retained a few hours later.

He was driving himself up a wall with the desperate need to study and yet lacking the energy to do so. He wasn't a fool - he knew he was depressed - but as much as he missed Sirius and wanted it all to end, he still wasn't looking forward to the prospect of dying. _So much for career advice_…

He'd made up his mind about what he was going to do, but kept getting overwhelmed with the details. How was he supposed to learn enough to challenge Voldemort in a duel? He realized he had to hunger for it. So how could he bypass his own reluctance to die? _And what a thing to try to work around_, he realized dryly.

For that's what it came down to. As much as he wanted it to end, he wasn't looking forward to _dying_. So what mattered to him? What was an acceptable goal he could work toward that would be incentive enough to relearn how to learn, and spend every waking moment at it?

Harry's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch as he suddenly knew what would. _Sirius, of course_. By stepping up to fight Voldemort, it put Harry in what would likely become a very public position at some point in time. So far, the Ministry controlled the information, but knowledge was power, and if Harry struck at the right moment, he could use public outcry (as his interview with Rita Skeeter in _The Quibbler_ had done) in much the same way the Ministry normally did (primarily with _The Daily Prophet)_. By 'persuading' them to properly investigate the events surrounding Sirius' arrest and inprisonment he might be able to force them to ultimately acquit his godfather – even if it was too late to do either of them any good.

To insure an investigation his best tool would be Wormtail… At this thought Harry suppressed a shiver of hate. _Kill the spare_. Pettigrew had casually murdered Cedric. His treachery had killed his parents and landed Sirius in Azkaban. Harry didn't need to look for motivation to want to learn to duel – his palms itched for another shot at Wormtail. He wouldn't make the same mistakes twice. All he needed was the right circumstance, and this time when he faced Pettigrew - he intended to win.

Unfortunately, while he had lots of goals, he had no idea what to plan for, which in essence meant his goal should be to be prepared for _anything_. Towards that end, Harry had resolved to begin researching Ministry laws at the first available opportunity. How had Sirius been imprisoned without a trial? What obligations did a Minister of Magic have towards his constituents? Was Fudge already violating Wizarding Law? How did the Ministry trace underage use of magic – and was there any way he could get around it?

So far, Harry had always been the last to know: the last to know who Sirius even was, what had happened at Godric's Hollow, what his father had been really like… All that information was available in the Hogwarts library, and it shamed him to acknowledge he'd never read up on it. That would change.

Hermione had the right of it. Knowledge was the key. _Won't Ron be disappointed?_ he wondered idly. He'd come to realize that Dumbledore and the Ministry didn't know **_better_**, they just knew _**more** _– which was something he intended to change. He was done dancing to others' tunes. He kept screwing up because either he didn't know the rules or they kept changing on him.

The games others played worked because he allowed himself to participate in them, he realized. While he didn't like to admit it, he could see the truth of it – especially with Snape. Since his first year, he kept giving Snape the club with which to beat him with by reacting to what he said… Harry gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue thinking his dilemma through. He wouldn't dwell on the past. He couldn't afford to. It was too painful.

Harry's scar tingled constantly, but now that Voldemort was aware of their connection, he was no longer able to eavesdrop on him. His dreams terrified him for several reasons: first because Harry was no longer sure which nightmares were his own and which were being sent. The second reason, though, left him wanting to not sleep at all. It left him horrified and feeling paranoid, yet violated all at the same time.

There were moments when, even in the midst of desperate grief and despair in his nightmares, Harry felt as if he might not be alone. Was Voldemort able to see his dreams? Because if so, his unconscious was laying all his fears and pain bare. Harry tried hard to clear his mind at night, but found it nearly impossible to do so.

The closest thing to peace he felt was when he allowed his imagination to visualize his tumbling after Sirius through the Veil. Oddly enough, focusing on the faint rustling of the black curtain and soft whispers he'd heard drifting from the other side helped to keep his mind from wandering. He imagined an absolute stillness, like drifting in the deep of the ocean. – he hoped Sirius had found some sort of peace, even as his gut told him differently. Everything surrounding that Death Chamber felt _**off**_.

Perhaps remembering the Veil comforted him because he'd be where Sirius was now. He wasn't sure exactly what it was that soothed his desperate thoughts, but knew he could never admit it to anyone. He was aware that finding peace in that was probably not healthy, but… It worked, at least a little.

Bit by bit, he was tearing himself apart and trying to turn what he considered flaws into assets. He felt as if his mind had been stripped bare of any protections and was completely at Voldemort's mercy. He was so utterly unhappy that he would have loved the luxury of being able to crawl out of his own skin, but since he could not, he had to find other ways to ease the ache and find the strength to go on.

He recalled a time in the early days of the Triwizard Tournament when Hermione had mentioned reading about permanent memory charms that could be used to aid in absorbing materials. She had said with disappointment that some of them were considered quite excruciating and had dismissed ever attempting them.

Well, he was ready to try them now – he just had to track them down and discover whether their side effects negated the benefits. He wasn't worried about the pain. He suspected he had a different threshold than most and in a dark way almost looked forward to finding an opportunity to give them a try. Charms like those could certainly increase his learning curve, and he needed all the help he could get.

As a boy, when particularly depressed, he used to daydream about discovering his parents weren't dead, but had somehow lost him. He would imagine they'd spent years looking for him, and when found, would whisk him away from the Dursleys and he'd live happily ever after.

When Sirius first came into his life, he'd thought, _this is close enough. He's my godfather, and he wants me to live with him!_ But that dream had quickly been squashed as well. Reality had never been particularly kind to Harry.

He had no hopes for a better tomorrow now. All he could do was wish with all his might that before it ended, he would be able to set things right. That was worth working towards. He'd see Sirius' name cleared, and if it was at the Ministry's expense – so much the better. _At least I'm beginning to develop some obtainable goals_, he consoled himself. It was a start.


	3. Death and Decorum

**Disclaimer**: It's the world of JKR. If Harry Potter were mine, I assure you I wouldn't still be at my day job. ;-)

**Author's Notes**: Sorry for the delay between chapters. While the story is outlined, Remus gave me a bit of trouble at first. We've worked out our differences, though.

There are a few points and acknowledgements I'd like to make. First of all, thanks as always go to my betas. A special 'shout out' (who knew I'd ever get to use that phrase? g) to Wishweaver, who faced the wrath of her husband to give my work a quick perusal (as she's also currently beta-ing for his novel, too).

Secondly, the explanation for Tonk's clumsiness is something I've encountered before in fanon. While I apologize that I cannot remember where first I read it, it wasn't a BBB creation. It made complete sense, however, as that's what I perceive coordination to be – comfortableness in your own skin. I'm rather fond of the legal twist, though. That's me. ;-)

It's been suggested that this chapter is too short. I agree, but then so the first two chapters have been as well. Once we get rolling, plot-wise, that will naturally begin to change. For now, though, Remus firmly showed me that he needed a transitional chapter as well, and at long last I have obliged. ;-)

Thank you to all who have left your input. I assure you feedback is always appreciated and considered. However, please don't feel slighted that I don't reply individually at the end of the chapter like I did during the early days of NANA. This change was made by reader request. As always, reviews are anxiously awaited and eagerly read! I hope you enjoy the chapter.

**All That's Left Behind**

**Chapter 3 – Death and Decorum**

Remus paced anxiously back and forth in the windowless, musty room he'd claimed as his own at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. He'd chosen the bedroom furthest from Sirius' mum's portrait, uncaring that it was also likely the most neglected, situated as it was near Kreacher's old quarters. Already a light sleeper, Mrs. Black's vicious words made Remus want to do all sorts of things that would only reinforce why the Ministry said werewolves should be feared.

It had been nearly a month and a half – Harry's birthday came and went and still Dumbledore wouldn't consent for Remus to retrieve him from the Dursleys. Other than his required communiqué every three days and the thank-you's he'd sent to anyone who'd sent a gift, no one heard much from Harry – not even his friends. Remus hated the hollow tone Harry's letters held, and that he'd been forced to celebrate yet another birthday alone. _Of all the times to be in exile…_

Remus knew his gift to Harry, books, were the last resort for a desperate gift-giver, but he couldn't help it. Their relationship wasn't strong enough to know what Harry would want (_except **that**, and what he wouldn't do to be able to give **that**_), so was forced to get what he knew Harry would need. Gibson Gottfried's _Offensive Spells Used Defensively_ was one manual he was particularly fond of, even if the author came to a bad end using his own techniques. Remus included an article detailing the author's demise so Harry would know to skip chapter six.

Although nearing the end of his financial reserves, Remus had also bought the _Year Six Standard Book of Spells_ to allow Harry a head start on studying for next year. According to Moody and the rest of Harry's 'watchers', he didn't appear to leave his room much, and hopefully this would help to keep him occupied.

Molly Weasley was beside herself with worry, and campaigned for Harry's release at every Order meeting. Dumbledore gently refused each of her requests, and as he sat in the shadows, slightly distanced from the rest of the members, Remus remained silent, unsure exactly where Harry would be better off. The Burrow, yes. _Here_…?

Grimmauld Place now felt like a giant crypt to Remus, tangible evidence of all Sirius had tried to leave behind but ultimately never could. When he'd been in his second year at Hogwarts and his friendship with Sirius had begun to deepen, Remus had been equally horrified and fascinated by his friend's description of what 'home' was like.

He'd had no point of reference to begin to imagine the kind of wealth Sirius came from, and there had always been a little voice inside that whispered it would have been nice to have _money with problems_ rather than just problems. In retrospect, though, even Sirius' seemingly exaggerated descriptions didn't do justice to the reality of just how oppressive, dark and suffocating Grimmauld Place was.

The halls still resonated with Sirius' deep unhappiness, and Remus had to force himself to stop looking at vague half shadows as if they might be _him_; that he was somehow still there - a bitter observer slowly slipping back into his Azkaban mentality rather than the man who'd rediscovered the beauty of freedom and friendship. Could this place really be better than the Dursleys for Harry?

At the beginning of Harry's third year, Remus spent his time keeping a distance from James' son. He'd thought Harry already had a life of his own: a network of people who loved him. Remus had signed on to protect Harry, but not to get involved. Just because _he_ had been frozen in time, tortured by grief for those he'd loved and lost, didn't mean Harry was. The last thing he'd wanted to do was cause the boy pain. Little did he know…

The signs had been there, even in the beginning, when he first began to interact with Sirius' godson – but Remus refused to acknowledge the possibility, even to himself: Harry's watchful eyes, noticing everything - always reading and gauging the environment around him; the way he seemed both genuinely surprised and pleased with even the most casual kind word; the fact that he never spoke of his home life – ever... Even his thinness.

The first, primal impression the wolf whispered in Remus' mind that day he'd met Harry on the train had not diminished with time. He'd behaved as _prey_: forever wary of predators, weary but determined to fight for survival no matter the odds. Sadly, even after five years as a student in the 'nurturing' environment of Hogwarts, the wolf's first impressions still resonated.

Neither James nor Lily were petite (although he'd never have admitted that to Lily's face). Neither were shy or soft-spoken. Confidence had never been an issue with James, and Lily had always been self-assured, yet Remus' Patronus lessons revealed Harry had very little confidence. Yet even with all the obvious incongruities, Remus couldn't believe Dumbledore would have allowed Harry to suffer. Not when he'd promised James and Lily he'd personally see after Harry's well-being if anything happened to them.

What Sirius' godson did seem to have in abundance was a nearly obsessive tendency towards trying to protect the underdog, whoever that might be at the moment. In times past, people labeled it chivalry, but the way it manifested in Harry was unmistakable to Remus – Harry reacted as someone who'd suffered at another's hands. People like that were always the most tireless at trying to protect everyone else. He supposed it was a way to compensate for the reality that no one had been there for them.

Sirius once confessed to Remus that he had sensed it from the very beginning. Of course, the first time Sirius laid eyes on Harry, the boy had just left the Dursleys with no idea where to go, dragging his trunk down the street in the dead of night. Sirius and had aptly described the look in Harry's eyes as '_Anywhere but here_'. Remus thought that summed it up nicely. It meant even sleeping behind a dumpster was better than home.

By all accounts, Harry's stay this summer was a quiet one, but thanks to Fred and George Weasleys's Extendable Ears, the Order got to hear first hand the comments Harry endured, and while this was, according to Harry's 'watchers', a more recent development, Remus knew instinctively that the sharp words and vicious insults were more normal than the unbearable silence had been.

As for how Harry was doing… No one really knew. Other than the softly spoken '_Yes, sir_' or '_No, sir_', he didn't say much else. Only the faintest rustle of paper indicated diligent page turning, day after day, and was the primary reason for Remus' gifts.

He wished he'd understood sooner what life with the Dursleys was like. Only in hindsight could he see that he should have tried harder to have his own relationship with Harry… but he'd been so concerned about Sirius and hadn't wanted to interfere. He saw how much joy the man got out of spending time with his godson, and had been more concerned with nurturing their relationship. Now that Sirius was gone, Remus didn't know where to begin.

Ironically, he now found himself where Sirius had been – trapped in Grimmauld Place, unable to leave: a liability because of circumstance – only in this case, it was his being a werewolf rather than an escaped prisoner.

The last full moon had not gone well. He hid his grief as a man, but the wolf held no façades. The damage the last change had wrought had nearly been permanent. Even weeks later, Poppy visited him every few days with healing potions and salves to try to repair the worst of it.

He withdrew, even more quiet and reserved, much to Molly's dismay. It was all he knew to do – to hide his pain behind a mask of calm. Cruelty only beget more cruelty when others knew they'd scored a direct hit. A lifetime of being referred to as an '_it_' as opposed to '_he_' left him eternally careful not to reveal too much of himself. He'd learned long ago that showing emotion could be exploited as a weakness and was to be avoided at any cost.

Now, though, his injuries revealed the depth of his grief, and his normal, calm façade fooled no one. It was mortifying. He felt as if he sat naked in the Order meetings, stripped bare of all his defenses. Sometimes he had to resist the urge, when he caught pitying eyes cast his way, not to get up and leave.

In more maudlin moments, he could at least acknowledge to himself that a part of him felt he should have leaped after Sirius… It would have been better than being here; useless and ineffective. Instead, he had done the _right thing_, what had to be done, and held Harry back, feeling beneath his fingertips as Harry began to realize that Sirius wasn't coming back.

While James followed his heart, and Sirius followed his instincts, Remus had been the _steady_ Marauder - the reliable one. He'd spent hours helping Peter with his homework because the others, while good intentioned, were far too distractible, especially concerning things that didn't interest them.

Remus had been the voice of reason to James' intellectual curiosity, to Sirius' intuitive grasp of magic, and Peter's odd but often right leaps of logic. But he couldn't reason away Sirius' death. It wasn't just untimely, it was… inappropriate. _Wrong_. Even the Avada Kedavra would have at least given finality.

Instead, Remus felt the same way Harry probably did - confused, stunned, bewildered, mixed in with more than a little denial. He couldn't shake the feeling that Sirius could come strolling through the front door at any moment, tired and gaunt but with an entertaining story of how he'd avoided Death Eaters and Ministry workers alike for days until finally making it home. _Hah. Home._ Remus closed his eyes and wearily sat on the tattered duvet, pulling absently at a loose thread until he realized he was unraveling a portion of the bedspread.

Someone tapped softly at the door, but before Remus could decide whether or not to answer, Tonks was coming in anyway with a tray floating behind her. Instinctively Remus whipped out his wand to help, then tucked it quickly away when she scowled at him.

"Just because I'm a klutz doesn't mean I make mistakes with magic," she jokingly scolded and directed the tray to sit on his nightstand, knocking over some of Poppy's potions and tinctures in the process.

"Whoops," she said, blushing, and redirected the tray to Remus' tiny desk as he slowly bent to pick up the assorted bottles and tins. He wished she'd have set it on the nightstand anyway. He'd rather have his potions ruined than the small pile of books that sat on the desk, but said nothing aloud.

"Well, normally I'm not a klutz magically," she amended.

Remus gave a small, sympathetic smile. He knew frequent use of her Metamorphmagus abilities was what caused her lack of coordination. Kingsley once confessed he thought their superiors foolish to exclusively utilize her shape changing abilities, saying, _"__She's a fine Auror if they'd just let her be one,". _Unfortunately, a current loophole in Ministry law stated that if evidence or testimony was gathered by means of Polyjuice without the consent of the person whose hair was used in the potion, it was inadmissible. However, as a Metamorphmagus did not require a strand of hair, anything gathered by them was allowable.

As the tray settled with the teapot still upright, Remus let out a quiet sigh of relief and Tonks quickly came to kneel beside him. "Let me get these," she said, indicating the few remaining tins that had rolled partially underneath the nightstand. Remus shook his head.

"Don't be silly. I've got them," he replied. Tonks grinned apologetically and, as she stood up, her knees popped loudly.

"Goodness," Remus commented, then indicated the salves on the nightstand as he used it to gingerly pull himself upright as well, "I think there's enough to share."

Tonks stuck out her tongue at him as she crossed the room and began putting scones and sandwiches on a plate. "Knave," she said.

"Ah, yes, but who here doesn't seem to know knocking means you're supposed to wait to see if someone's there?" Remus retorted.

"I circumvented the system. I **knew** you were here, but was courteous enough to give you a few seconds in case you were indecent," Tonks replied.

"I know that it may only take you a few seconds to get dressed, but the rest of us mere mortals need more like a few minutes," Remus said. Tonks handed him the plate of food and went back to pour some tea for them both.

"Milk?"

"Of course."

"How many lumps?"

"Three… or four," Remus replied, and Tonks smiled widely.

"I have discovered your weakness," she announced, clearly pleased.

"I thought you already knew that," Remus commented dryly, nodding his head towards the small gold box of truffles on his nightstand.

"Besides chocolate. You, Remus Lupin, have a sweet tooth in general," she accused playfully. Remus suppressed a small grin at the irony in her chosen words.

"Amongst other things," he replied, feeling oddly buoyed. It surprised him.

While he avoided contact with most everyone else, save Poppy of course, he found he liked Tonks' company. She had the capacity to lighten moods with banter and made for companionship without expectations. It was a trait he admired.

She knew he was a mess. They all did. All they had to do was look at him to know the truth, yet she'd never once pried or tried to get him to open up. However, she did seem to have made it her personal mission while at Grimmauld Place to be sure to seek out and spend time with him whenever she was in the neighborhood. It both touched and annoyed him in equal measures.

"Would you like some help?" Remus offered as she poured, then gave a contrite look as her glare reflected back at him in the dresser mirror.

"That would be a '_no_', muffin," the mirror supplied for his benefit, and Tonks' lip quirked in barely suppressed mirth.

After pouring both cups, she heaved a martyrish sigh and walked very slowly to Remus with a saucer held out front awkwardly in each hand. The cups chattered threateningly as they wobbled in their saucers, but thankfully neither spilt… much.

"Thank you," Remus said gratefully and drank deeply. It wasn't scalding hot, and the caffeine was a welcome pick-up to counteract some of Poppy's stronger pain potions.

"Mmmmm," Tonks agreed as she drank as well, sighing and closing her eyes contentedly.

He took the opportunity to scrutinize her profile. While she had the capacity to manipulate her features, he'd discovered she often didn't disguise basic things like fatigue unless someone noticed.

"Long day?" Remus inquired.

"It's been a series of long days. They've got us working double shifts," she explained between gulps and stood abruptly, quickly crossing the tiny room to refill her cup. He caught the brief look of distaste as she glanced around the room but thankfully didn't say anything. She'd agreed with Molly and Albus when they'd approached him about staying in the set of rooms closer to the others, but relented when he'd refused to compromise.

"Is there a lot of activity out there?" Remus asked, hoping to head her off in case she was thinking of broaching the subject again.

He'd known that Fudge was doing an enormous amount of damage control now that news of Voldemort's return was public knowledge, but he hadn't read of many raids in the Daily Prophet, and nothing was being discussed in the Order meetings. Not that he wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to keep that information from him.

He'd already expressed a strong desire to return to the field as soon as he was able. Keeping busy kept Remus from thinking too much, and due to his transformation injuries, he'd had too much idle time already. It did him no good to allow his thoughts to circle over _could have been, should have been_, and _what could now never be_.

Each time Albus visited, he didn't even bother to be subtle; stating that of course it was Remus' choice, but that Grimmauld Place could be the best thing for him, and didn't he want to be there when Dumbledore finally allowed Harry to come? Of course Remus wanted to be there for Harry… _As long as I don't do more damage than good. _

"Now that Voldemort's gone public, Fudge has us all working mandatory overtime to prevent widespread panic. People were caught unprepared," Tonks said, interrupting his thoughts. Remus shook his head in disgust.

"And whose fault is that?" he asked bitterly. Tonks leaned against the dresser and eyed his plate.

"Less talking and more eating," she instructed. Remus complied, although he wasn't hungry, nibbling on the egg sandwiches and spreading a healthy bit of jam on a scone. It surprised him when he eventually cleaned the plate. Tonks beamed at him like a proud parent.

"Has my nutritional intake met with your approval?" he asked wryly.

"I thought you'd never finish! Now let's go get Harry," Tonks said as she headed towards the door.

Remus reacted instantly, setting aside the tray and rushing after her.

"Why didn't you say so? Should I find some Muggle clothes? When did you hear we could get him?" Remus asked, breathless with anxiety, anticipation, and frustration. She should have said that first!

"We'll be arriving as proper wizards. Come as you are. Professor Dumbledore has the Portkeys waiting downstairs. The window of time we're exposed is minimal. No wild broomstick rides this time!" Tonks said over her shoulder as she walked briskly down the hallway towards the stairs, her voice bright with energy. She was fond of Harry, and clearly as relieved to get him as he was.

"If everything's ready, you should have just told me, instead of waiting until I ate first," Remus grumbled in annoyance.

"Sorry, but I was under strict orders from Molly that you were to eat before we left. We don't know how Harry's going to be until we get there, and Molly was insistent that you needed a decent meal first. No offense, Remus, but I'd rather face a werewolf's wrath to Molly Weasley!" she said cheerfully, which woke Mrs. Black's portrait up as they passed it.

He didn't even hear the bitter woman's words as they headed into the kitchen. It was finally time. They were getting Harry. He ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously. _I must look a wreck_, he thought. He wished he'd had a moment to pull his appearance together a little more before they left.

He had no idea what they'd find, but he was determined to do what he could. He cared deeply for Harry, and prayed he'd be able to reach him, and that he hadn't left working on _their _relationship until too late.

tbc…


	4. Hit the Road, Jack

**Disclaimer**: JKR – why did you do it? It's highly impolite to introduce a character in one book (and even title it after him), then kill him off in the next. I sooo wish HP were mine. I'd make a few changes around the place! g

**Author's Notes**: A huge thanks go to both Nicky15 and Wishweaver, who poked some holes in my paragraphs and reminded me readers cannot psychically absorb that which I do not clarify. ;-) And thanks for the amazing turnaround, too! I am, as always, indebted to you both.

**All That's Left Behind**

**Chapter 4 – Hit the Road, Jack**

"What does this button do?" Tonks asked as she pressed it. A distant chime rang inside Number 4, Privet Drive.

"It's a doorbell," Remus supplied as he suppressed a smile.

"It's foolish to push it if you don't know what it is, Nymphadora," Moody scolded. Tonks smirked devilishly, and Remus suspected she had known what it was, but couldn't resist teasing the old Auror.

"Press it again. I don't think they heard you," Alastor instructed after a pause, and rapped sharply against the door himself, in case they didn't hear the chimes.

Remus took a moment to look around him while they waited. He'd seen the Dursleys' house before, of course, but each time he did he was reminded just how plain it was. This was supposed to be Harry's home, and its most notable feature was how very unremarkable it was. On the exterior the house was so completely like its neighbors that, combined with the blood magic's natural Wizarding repellant charms, it was almost invisible to magical folk who weren't known by Harry personally. The first few times new Order members stood watch, they had to be escorted to Number 4.

Remus thought Tonks had summed up the Dursleys nicely once when commenting on what the inside of Number 4 felt like. Sterile. Unlived in. Uncomfortable to live in. He wondered if their home was as immaculate when Harry wasn't around to clean up after them.

The Dursleys reminded him of Mundungus after a drinking binge, when he was trying to pass himself off as sober. The additional effort it took to appear normal was painful for all to see, and only Dung thought he was fooling anyone. According to Arabella, the neighbors certainly weren't impressed by the Dursleys' pretentious behavior.

The Portkey had taken the three of them directly to the front porch, which was partially sheltered from the faint drizzle. Although more a mist than a real downpour, the rain kept everyone indoors, for which Remus was grateful. He would prefer to avoid a scene if possible. The key was to get Harry out quickly. Tonks pressed the button for the third time, and as the chime echoed again, Remus began to hear only faintly muffled voices.

"Boy! Someone's at the door!" Petunia Dursley's voice shrieked as if yelling to the other end of the house.

"He's in the shower," a boy's voice replied, just barely discernable above the din of voices and discordant music. His voice held a whining edge that immediately grated on Remus' nerves. _Dudley_he thought with distaste._ Do the Dursleys listen to that noise all day?_ He wondered. _It must be a Muggle television. I wonder what Harry thinks of that?_

"Get the boy, then. He must not have heard," Petunia hissed angrily, practically on the other side of the door now. Remus heard the thump of retreating footsteps, exaggeratedly loud, as though Dudley were stomping as he went upstairs.

"Why don't they just answer the door?" he asked Tonks quietly. Her face had gone oddly still, her eyes glinting with anger and her lips pursed. "Tonks?" he prompted. Moody snorted disgustedly.

"They don't bother answering the door anymore when Potter's home. Not since last summer," he explained, his magical eye still directed at the door as his normal eye focused on Remus.

"But Harry hasn't had any visitors, has he? That's what Dumbledore instructed," Remus said, feeling guilty he hadn't taken a more active part as one of the Order's 'Watchers'. He'd only done it a few times, appalled by what little he'd heard of the Dursleys through the Weasley's Extendable Ears, and deeply uncomfortable with Harry's silence. Unless spoken to, Harry didn't say much at all.

"They don't answer the door while he's home, in case they're attacked. Harry's aunt and uncle actually sat him down to tell him they'd rather the _Dementors_," here Tonks mimicked Petunia Dursley's voice uncomfortably well, "take him and be done than risk anyone else in the family." The hairs rose on the nape of his neck. _Surely they didn't understand what that meant?_

"They said that to him?" he asked quietly.

"Remus, if that shocks you, then it's a good thing you don't listen in too often. Those Dursleys are a piece of work," Moody stated, shaking his head in disgust.

The sound of light footsteps quickly bounding downstairs kept him from replying. Remus' mouth went dry and his heart began to thump wildly in his chest. _What if Harry was angry with him? What if he blamed him for Sirius' death? But that was foolish, wasn't it? Harry had been pleased to see him at the station_.

"All tucked away?" Harry's muffled voice mocked clearly. While it held a note of bitterness, oddly there was also a touch of humor, too. An indistinct murmur gave Remus the impression that the Dursleys had indeed hidden somewhere in the house.

The door opened, and Harry opened his eyes wide in surprise.

"Remus," he breathed, and gave a small smile as he glanced at the others. "Is it time to go?" he asked quietly. Remus noted Harry's wand tip peeking out of his sleeve, being discretely held in place by a slightly bent wrist. _Good boy._

Remus nodded and forced a broad smile on his face, determined not to show the shock and surprise he felt at his first good look at Harry in nearly two months. He had clearly lost considerable weight, and the rings under his eyes spoke of repeated sleepless nights. Even after just coming from the shower, he was almost sickly pale, but instead of being dull and lackluster, Harry's green eyes were bright and sharp.

"Get your things. We've come to take you," Moody instructed tersely, as Harry opened the door wide and invited them all in.

"I'm already packed," Harry replied, seeming content to dispense with pleasantries as they gathered around him in the hall.

"Who is it?" Petunia Dursley's tremulous voice called from upstairs. Remus noted the television didn't seem as loud, and realized Harry must have turned it down before answering the door.

"They're not from around here, and they asked for me. I'd stay out of sight for a while," Harry called out with a straight face, then turned to Remus again.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Grimmauld Place," Remus responded, hating to say the words. "I'm sorry," he began, but Harry shook his head. For just the briefest moment, Remus could have sworn he saw a flicker of relief on his face. _What's **that** all about?_

"Don't be. I'd rather be somewhere where I won't feel bad if it ends up being destroyed," Harry explained with a shrug. Remus cringed at the nonchalance of his statement. "I'll just get my things, shall I?" he asked, and at the sharp nod from Moody, quickly ran upstairs.

"Molly's going to pop a vessel when she sees him looking like that," Tonks murmured quietly when Harry was out of sight. "I'll help him with the trunk," she offered, heading upstairs.

Remus grimaced, knowing she wouldn't be the only one. Like last year, weeks of forced isolation had left its mark on Harry, and this time he suspected the damage went much deeper. _No one should have to grieve alone_, he thought ironically, considering his own desire for solitude these past weeks. _But don't you think Harry could have used someone like Tonks to keep him company? _his conscience nagged._ Didn't she help you?_

"Still want to go through with what we talked about?" Moody called softly just as Tonks was about to disappear around the corner.

"Oh yes," Tonks replied, glancing over her shoulder at Alastor with a predatory smile. "I've been waiting weeks for this," she said, and stepping out of sight. Moody's good eye glanced at Remus, and his lip curled into a vicious grin. When Alastor looked that cheerful, bad things inevitably happened.

"What are you talking about? Charming some of the Dursleys' things?" Remus asked anxiously, "Won't it be detected?" The last thing Harry needed was any more Ministry scrutiny.

"Relax, it won't be. She knows how to stay below the sensors – even ones as sensitive as these," Moody said, gesturing around him. Remus frowned thoughtfully, but didn't reply. He'd often wondered if the magical detectors on Harry's home were especially fine tuned. Evidently, they were.

As they waited, Moody pulled out a small, very old, stuffed bear from his pocket as they waited. Remus thought the Portkey to take Harry back to Grimmauld Place was inappropriately ironic. _Talk about lost childhoods. Did Harry ever have toys to call his own?_

Taking a few steps to glance in the lounge, Remus noted the family pictures on the mantle: Group portraits, vacation photos, a few favorite introspective shots of Dudley, intended to make him look more thoughtful than he was…

Harry was in none of them.

One picture on the mantle, showcased prominently, was of Dudley dressed in boxing gear. He looked a sight, sopping wet with sweat, his protective head gear compressing his chubby cheeks to the point he bore a striking resemblance to a chipmunk, sporting a shiner and grinning wetly through his mouthpiece. Placed around the picture frame were a few cheap trophies, obviously from local events, and several second and third place ribbons.

Drawings, obviously done by a child's hand, were also framed and clustered in a small collage on the back wall. Remus squinted and could see a neat scrawl with Dudley's name and a date underneath each of the childish drawings, obviously done in Petunia's swirly handwriting.

But there was nothing of Harry.

No photos, report cards, or drawings. If Remus hadn't known Harry lived there, he would have never guessed it. He noted the couch and several chairs and wondered, _Where does Harry sit?_

Remus crossed the hall to glance in the kitchen. A small table that seated four only had three placemats. _Does he participate at all with the Dursleys?_ _What about meals? _His unease with what little he'd learned of the Dursleys increased with each passing second as they waited for Harry and Tonks to return.

"Lovely home the savior of the Wizarding world has, isn't it?" Moody observed, his voice steely. He'd been watching Remus take in the signs around him. "Those Dursleys are positively doting."

"What's on your mind, Alastor?" Remus prompted, knowing Moody didn't make leading statements.

"Did you know? About this? About the Dursleys?" Alastor asked directly, nodding his head towards the lounge where all the portraits were. Remus frowned, shaking his head, then tilting it to the side.

"I suspected, I think. But I never realized the full extent of it. Not until just recently," he replied honestly.

"I think Albus did," Moody stated flatly, making the hairs on the back of Remus' neck rise.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Moody shrugged. "Call it gut instinct. Watch Albus the next time he's around the boy and see if you don't agree," he suggested. They both fell silent when Harry and Tonks returned with his trunk and Hedwig's cage floating behind them.

"I sent her on ahead," Harry explained to Remus' questioning look. That was probably for the best. Even magical animals like owls weren't keen on being Portkeyed about.

"Ready?" Moody asked and held out the stuffed animal for all to touch.

"Boy?" Petunia Dursley called from the top of the stairs. _Ah, decided to put in appearance, did you?_ Dudley peered at them from over his mother's shoulder. _Hardly the brave boxer now, are you, boy?_

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" Harry replied with no intonation at all.

"You're of age now. Don't come back next year," she said coldly.

Remus couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd forgotten that in the Muggle world, teenagers came of age at sixteen, not seventeen. Surely she was darker than a werewolf could ever be.

"That's fine," Harry agreed flatly, touching the teddy bear's ear. While it was clear he wanted to present a calm face to his aunt's cruelty, the faint spasm of muscle on his jaw and telltale red splotches on his cheeks gave him away. He felt a lot more than he was revealing.

Infuriated, Remus felt his own face twist into a vicious snarl. Glaring up at Lily's monstrosity of a sister, he was gratified to see her look of raw terror his expression caused her. _Good. Since you don't have the decency to be ashamed, at least I can make you afraid. Lily would have loved **your** boy, had the positions been reversed._

The familiar tug of the navel landed them on the street in front of Grimmauld Place, and Moody quickly herded Harry towards the door. Remus watched Harry's eyes linger for a moment on the twisted silver knocker as he passed inside. No one needed reminding to be quiet. Tonks even paid special attention to avoid knocking into the umbrella stand as Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage floated behind her.

"Where's Kreacher?" Harry asked after Remus took him upstairs to show him to his new room. Tonks placed his trunk at the foot of the bed, and after an uncomfortable glance at the both of them, quickly excused herself.

Stifling a sigh, Remus turned to face Harry. He'd hoped to wait a bit before having this discussion, but knew it was a foolish wish. Of course this would be first and foremost on Harry's mind.

"He's dead," Remus replied, forcing his voice to remain steady. Harry set Hedwig's cage on the corner of his dresser and kneeled beside the trunk. He didn't make any move to open it, though.

"Oh?" he prompted, his hand idly playing with the brass lock.

_This feels uncomfortably like a chess match_, Remus realized as he pushed on.

"Whether Kreacher liked it or not, Sirius was his master. His actions, however indirect, led to Sirius' death. The dark magic which bound Kreacher as a house elf to the Black family had contingency clauses for betrayal built into the enchantments."

"Did Kreacher know that?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes. Dumbledore is certain he did. It took us a few days to find him, but… Kreacher won't be troubling us anymore," Remus said, his tongue thick in his mouth. He knew Dumbledore thought the house elf should have been pitied, but Remus never would. Harry nodded, clearly satisfied.

"Good," he replied. Remus held his breath. This whole conversation was heavy with dark undertones.

"Good?" Remus repeated questioningly. He kept his tone soft and non-judgmental. This was something he knew instinctively Harry would need to talk about.

"I won't pretend I'm not glad he's dead," Harry said as he sat on the floor cross-legged, leaning against his trunk. Although he didn't raise his voice, it trembled a little. He hadn't even noticed the room yet. _Don't tell Molly, _Remus thought distractedly

"I wasn't asking you to. I'm satisfied as well," he said, trying to reach the boy with his words. He squatted a few feet away from Harry, keeping him at eye level, even though it pained his knees to do so. It seemed important to not stand over Harry, physically or metaphorically.

Of course, that wasn't the only communication challenge he was facing. It felt like they were talking across a great chasm, and he had no idea how to draw Harry closer to him. He was so carefully controlled… and the more calm Harry seemed, the more nervous Remus became, especially considering his explosive behavior the year before. Perhaps it _was_ a mistake to have him upstairs.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to give Harry a room upstairs. Molly, especially, had tried to get Remus to put Harry near his room on the main floor, as he was the only full time resident. Remus had disagreed, even though the stairwell proved an echo chamber for Mrs. Black's portrait. Being upstairs would place Harry close to the rooms his friends would be staying in when they finally arrived, and he'd thought Harry would rather have them nearby than himself.

"Goodness. Mrs. Weasley outdid herself," Harry commented as he finally took a good look around. His glasses magnified his widened eyes, making him appear owlish. Remus abruptly wondered how bad Harry's eyesight really was.

"Tonks, too, although it was mostly Molly," he clarified, honestly impressed at the pains they'd taken to brighten up Harry's room. It was almost an exact replica of the Gryffindor dorms, only with one bed instead of many.

Everyone had worked long hours trying to make Grimmauld Place feel more comfortable, but Molly especially labored tirelessly to make it feel more like a home. No one held any illusions about it being a temporary base, especially for Harry.

They'd tried to get Remus to let them fix up his room as well, but he hadn't felt it worth the trouble. Now, seeing their finished product, he reconsidered. _I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let them have a go at it,_ he mused. After all, this was not just Harry's new home.

"Was Tonks in Gryffindor, too, then?" Harry asked, unsurprised.

"Oh, most definitely. Tonks idolized Sirius as a little girl," Remus said before he could stop himself. He couldn't seem to go ten minutes without mentioning Sirius. _Stop that!_ he crossly reprimanded himself

Fortunately, Harry didn't seem to notice. He just sat on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest, looking around and taking in all the details of his new room. Watching, Remus swallowed a lump in his throat. Harry looked so small and vulnerable in those oversized clothes when he sat like that. On one hand, he wanted to reach out to the boy, but on the other hand, he didn't know if it was the right thing to do. Instead, he settled for folding his hands in his lap.

"Thank you for the gifts," Harry said with a soft smile after an uncomfortable silence, changing the subject.

"You're welcome. Have you been studying?" Remus asked, although he already knew the answer. Harry's grin, while spontaneous, was also a partial grimace.

"Yes. I've been studying quite a bit, lately," he admitted softly, his eyes sharp as he seemed to weigh what to say next. Remus nodded encouragingly.

"Is the rest of the house safe?" Harry asked. Remus grimaced.

"That depends on your definition of 'safe'. Most of it is habitable. Some of the rooms are even comfortable. There certainly won't be any more boggarts hanging about," Remus promised, remembering the one that got to Molly last summer.

That awful episode had spurred Sirius and Remus to scour the rest of the house from top to bottom. If Molly had been alone, she might have been driven mad. Harry's face reflected that he was thinking along the same lines.

"Same goes for the doxies, but just to warn you, Tonks has a soft spot for puffskeins," Remus continued, trying to steer the conversation to less troubled waters. "If you step on something soft and fluffy, don't panic," he advised with a shake of the head. Thank Merlin the place no longer reeked of Doxycide. His nose was particularly sensitive to it, and he'd sneezed for days after the last bout of spraying.

"I'd like to look through the books in the library," Harry asked hesitantly. _Ah, thank Merlin. A topic I'm comfortable with_.

"Of course," Remus replied with relief.

"That was suspiciously easy," Harry said with a frown. His eyes, though, weren't solemn. _He's teasing me_, Remus realized. Up one minute, down the next. The conversation was exhausting.

"Yes, well, that might be because the Order's already sorted through and separated out the Dark Magic books," he explained. Harry glanced at Remus but didn't say anything. _What are you thinking?_

"Are there any books left?" Harry wondered. Remus did laugh at that.

"About three is all, and even those were iffy," he replied jokingly and slowly stood. He could practically hear his joints creak as he did so. He reached out his hand to Harry.

"Come on. You can unpack later. Let's get some food in you. Molly's going to have kneazles when she sees how skinny you are," Remus said. Harry grimaced but accepted the hand, allowing Remus to pull him to his feet.

"Is she here?" Harry asked.

"She will be in a few hours," Remus said, choosing not to mention that she'd be late because of Ron.

The youngest male Weasley was still being slathered three times a day with Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction, and according to Arthur, it was a battle to keep him still. Evidently, the salve didn't just affect the surface tissue. To nullify some of the deeper damage done by the brains at the Department of Mysteries, it occasionally manifested psychotropic characteristics.

"Thanks for coming to get me," Harry said softly as they headed downstairs. Remus felt his heart break.

"I just wish we could have gotten you sooner, Harry," he replied honestly. Harry shrugged, speeding up his pace when he spotted Tonks.

She was leaning against the kitchen door frame, watching them both come downstairs. Sighing, Remus found himself hoping she'd find a way to connect with Harry. He was beginning to think maybe too much time had already passed, and that his window of opportunity for reaching out to the boy was irretrievably closed. Perhaps, if he couldn't fill up the space left by Sirius, she could.

tbc…


	5. The Difference Between Actions and Words

**Disclaimer**: JKR's stuff, not mine. 'Nuff said. ;-)

**Author's Notes**: Thank you so much to Nicky15 for her incredibly fast turnaround despite a busy schedule (still sending the vibes! _g_), to apassov for a few _blushes_ additional catches and to Wishweaver's continued support. On a personal note, I've started to more aggressively write these chapters in the insane hope that perhaps I might actually finish it in time for book 6. I haven't written this much since National November Writing Month. Wish me luck in this harebrained endeavor and do keep in mind that feedback feeds the fanfiction writer's soul. _g_ Enjoy!

**All That's Left Behind**

**Chapter 5 - The Difference Between Actions and Words**

It had been over a week since they'd taken him from the Dursleys. Tonks and Moody eventually had to return to the Ministry, leaving Remus behind to try to decipher how best to approach Harry. As predicted, Mrs. Weasley had been horrified the moment she laid eyes on the boy, and had raised enough fuss that Dumbledore sent Dobby the house-elf, whom Harry evidently knew, to watch over both of Grimmauld Place's full-time residents, as well as the other occasional Order members. _And goodness doesn't Dobby take his job seriously_.

Remus hadn't known the full story of Dobby and Harry's pre-existing relationship until a few days ago, but it certainly explained a lot. Thankfully they'd already taken down all the house-elf plaques from the wall. However, considering Dobby had belonged to Lucius Malfoy, Remus suspected the house-elf would have been unfazed by the grisly trophies. Whatever Dobby's previous relationships had been, it was clear to Remus that the little house-elf worshipped the ground Harry walked on, and that Harry was equally fond, if also a little exasperated by, him.

In the span of a week, he'd been introduced to the entire range of Harry's favorite meals – over and over again, until Harry finally noticed and instructed Dobby to cook Remus' favorites as well. But while Dobby was a welcome, albeit occasionally annoying addition to the Black residence, it pained Remus that none of Harry's other friends, in particular the younger Weasleys, had yet been brought by to visit.

Especially considering that Molly came by once a day to spend time with Harry, bearing letters and treats (much to Dobby's chagrin). She never brought Ron or the others, and Remus couldn't decide if it was circumstance or something else that kept them away. Remus felt Harry certainly could use some company of his own age, especially now as it drew nearer to the full moon, but Harry never asked when she'd bring them by, and Molly never volunteered the information.

While it was nice of her to spend a couple of hours daily with Harry, time passed slowly at Grimmauld Place, and soon Remus wouldn't be able to properly keep an eye on the boy. This was something he felt to be essential, especially since when left to his own devices, Harry spent his free time reading books on the floor in the Entrance Hall in front of Mrs. Black's portrait.

He'd once tried cajoling Harry into studying elsewhere, especially considering that the (admittedly now cleaned) gas lamps provided poor reading light, but Harry had been staring at the serpent shaped candelabra at the time and replied in Parseltongue (something he suspected Harry himself hadn't realized he'd done), disconcerting Remus to the point he hadn't broached it again.

He and Poppy both recognized the signs and knew that this month's full moon would be another bad one. In fact, just as he finished last month's round of potions, Poppy had already begun dosing him up with fortifiers in preparation for the upcoming one. This made him increasingly nervous as the tension between Harry and Molly continued to mount.

Since bringing Harry to Sirius' old home, Remus spent a lot of time discreetly watching him. Of late, he'd paid special attention to how Harry and Molly interacted. There was something off between those two, and he couldn't quite put a finger on what it was. Harry always seemed grateful for her company, but reluctant. He seemed to collapse in on himself whenever she got particularly motherly (she and Remus had just had a discussion the other day about the possibility of having Dobby slip appetite stimulants into Harry's food to try to increase his intake), but Ron's friend still gave a gentle smile each time she patted his arm or ruffled his hair as if nothing were amiss.

He certainly was light years away from the boy the Order had rescued last year. Remus recalled how he'd been dismayed by the abundance of anger Harry projected at the time, but he dearly missed that more vocal boy now, and wished to have him back. After Cedric's murder, Harry had been hurt and lonely – he'd hated being left out of things and had lashed out in frustration. That kind of behavior made sense to Remus. Unfortunately, that side of Harry appeared to have been burned away.

The teenager they'd brought from the Dursleys last week was soft-spoken and remained in rigid control of his emotions. This Harry was quiet and reluctant to speak. He didn't initiate conversation, although still polite enough when responding to others, and his eyes betrayed an abundance of thoughts that Remus would have given his left foot to hear.

Unfortunately, Harry also appeared to have realized how readable his eyes were, because he seemed to be actively avoiding eye contact. _Dumbldore told me that's what he'd done to you. Is this yet another lesson you took to heart?_ There was a lot going on in the teenager's mind, he just no longer shared it with anyone. _Not even your friends, _he thought sadly.

This morning Molly had brought crumpets, scones, lemon bars and some homemade jam with her, and was currently sitting in the kitchen with them as both Harry and Remus politely nibbled on her treats (even though they'd already had breakfast).

She danced around the topic of Ron's ongoing recovery, events at the Ministry, and daily news, which truthfully didn't leave much else to talk about, and while Harry didn't start conversations, he was still a very attentive listener. To give her credit, Molly made the most of what she did have left to talk about, which mainly consisted of the twins' latest antics, Charlie's dragon stories, and day to day happenings at the Burrow.

Remus found himself wishing yet again for time to speed up so Hermione Granger could return from traveling abroad. After being injured at the Ministry, her family was feeling understandably reluctant to let her out of sight, but she'd sent an owl a few days ago saying that by next Wednesday, she should be back home, and wanted to make arrangements to stay at Grimmauld Place beginning next Friday.

_What do you tell your Muggle parents about all of this, I wonder? If I were a Muggle, and learned a madman would love nothing better than to hang my child's head on a pike, I'd seriously consider leaving the country, _Remus pondered and froze. His eyes widened as he took in Harry's general responses and how Molly was behaving, and suddenly it became clear.

_Oh, Merlin, Molly, I know you're trying to help, but… _Remus abruptly stood and headed towards the door.

"Remus? Is everything all right?" Molly called after him. He realized he'd startled Harry by standing so quickly and smiled apologetically.

"I'd almost forgotten, Molly," Remus said, thinking quickly on his feet, "Could I have a moment of your time? I've got a robe I've been trying to patch up, and I'm afraid I've reached the end of my darning skills."

"I'd be happy to," she said, her face brightening as she stood as well, and patted Harry's arm affectionately as she followed Remus upstairs, then down the hall towards his room. Remus gently but firmly closed the door behind them, causing Molly to frown.

"What is it?" Molly asked at the look on his face. She went to approach him, consternation evident upon her own face, but froze at what she must have seen in his expression.

"He knows," Remus said without preamble.

"What?" Molly asked.

"He knows why you haven't brought your children by."

"What are you talking about?" Molly asked, the slight lift of her voice giving her away. He'd guessed right.

_Poor Harry. My dear girl, until you get your own feelings straightened out, you might be doing more harm than good_, Remus thought to himself but dared not say aloud.

"You're frightened, and rightfully so, for your own children. In your heart you place the responsibility on Harry for taking them to the Ministry, which is why you're so reluctant to bring them here," Remus said, and waited for the explosion.

He knew he was right on this one. Instead of losing her temper, though, Molly paled to the point where Remus stepped forward and gently touched her elbow.

"Molly?" he asked in concern, and led her to sit on the edge of his bed. Big tears welled in her eyes and her chin quivered, but still she struggled not to cry.

"Is that so wrong?" she whispered, clearly ashamed, turning her head away.

"No, it isn't. There's nothing wrong with feeling like that," Remus answered honestly as he sat next to her. It was dangerous being Harry Potter's friend. His mere presence seemed to be a lightening rod for trouble, let alone what he took upon himself to seek out.

"He's a good boy," she said, and her voice was thick with regret. "He's a good influence on Ron in a lot of ways."

"They're your children," Remus replied, finishing her explanation for her. He raised his hand, unsure where to put it, then settled for patting her shoulder.

"I know how hard it is to lose family," Molly said, turning haunted eyes towards him. Remus flinched at the look, for he knew it all too well. _That's right. You lost two of your brothers, didn't you?_ Remus recalled, and felt ashamed himself for forgetting.

"I like large families," Molly continued. "They fill up the empty spaces." Remus understood what she wasn't saying. Part of him wished he could have done the same.

"He doesn't talk about that day, but it's clear in every gesture he makes that he feels responsible," Remus supplied.

"But Harry isn't! It's not his fault You Know Who's been after him all his life," Molly said, defending Harry even as the truth of her own fears were laid bare.

"It was his decision to try to save Sirius."

"He saved Arthur's life because of his visions. Of course he feared his dreams might come true again," Molly said, and Remus was surprised at her candor. It seemed that he wasn't alone in criticizing Dumbledore's decision to keep Harry at arm's length.

"Until you decide if you want to try to discourage Ron and Ginny from being his friend, you're sending Harry mixed signals," Remus said, and Molly hung her head to hide her face.

"He breaks my heart, Remus. I'd do anything to change what he's had to go through."

"No you wouldn't. Which is why you haven't brought Ron by yet," Remus said firmly, unhappy with being unkind but feeling it was necessary.

"You think Harry knows?" Molly asked in a trembling voice without looking up.

"I'm certain of it."

"Does he hate me for it?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Of course not. He hates himself for it," Remus said. Molly nodded, wiping at her face surreptitiously, and stood. She straightened the hair around her face that had fallen out of the loose bun she'd tied it in, and squared her shoulders. She took a deep breath, and Remus watched as she took a moment to regain her composure.

"I never meant to hurt him," she said solemnly after a moment's pause. Remus smiled in sympathy but thought, _No one ever does_. _Well, except perhaps for Snape._

Molly left shortly thereafter. Harry still sat at the kitchen table, but had given up snacking in favor of staring into his tea cup when Remus returned, pulling out the chair to sit beside him. The longer he kept Harry in conversation the less time the boy spent in front of Sirius' mother's portrait, after all.

"Was there a darning emergency?" Harry asked mildly. Remus felt his face flush but gamely plowed ahead.

"She'd forgotten about Arthur bringing over some Ministry friends of his for lunch, and wanted to start getting the Burrow in order."

"You're awfully good at coming up with excuses, Remus, but whenever you're lying, your eyelid twitches," Harry replied.

"You're joking?" Remus asked, horrified. Harry smiled dryly.

"You're right. I am joking," he replied, and Remus felt his stomach plummet.

"You are a bit frightening at times, you know that?" Remus half-heartedly teased.

"I know," Harry replied, and while his tone was light, his eyes were serious.

Remus poured himself a cup of tea to fill the silence and waited for Harry to speak. So far he seemed to be bollixing everything up, and figured it was time for Harry to make the next move.

"Will she be coming tomorrow?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"I feel awful for her. Sometimes I think I should do something really mean to hurt her feelings just to make it easier for her," Harry said thoughtfully, and Remus held his breath.

"You don't mean that," he said softly.

"Of course I do. She's got a lot of family to lose."

"Has anyone taken the time to tell you it's not your fault?" Remus asked, thinking now would be a good time to put his hand on Harry's, but second guessed himself and cupped them around his tea instead.

"Sure," Harry dismissed with a shrug.

"I don't blame you for what happened to Sirius," Remus said, looking hard into Harry's eyes to will him to see the truth of his words. Harry'd been trying to save Sirius. It was the rest of them that hadn't done right by the Azkaban escapee.

_I blame Bellatrix for his death, and myself, Albus, Severus, and the Ministry for getting him there_, Remus amended silently.

"You should," Harry disagreed. Remus shook his head.

"I can't tell you how to feel, Harry, but neither can you tell me." Harry actually smiled at Remus' words. It was fragile, but it was a start.

"Dobby will feel better if she stops bringing treats anyway. He feels threatened by Mrs. Weasley's cooking," Harry said, effectively changing the subject.

"He shouldn't," Remus joked, and although he wasn't serious, as Molly was a fine cook, Harry's eyes grew big and his mouth opened.

"Remus!" Harry breathed, scandalized. Remus' own lip curled in amusement at his expression.

"What?" Remus asked innocently, pleased to see genuine, unguarded emotion on his face. Harry's jaw snapped shut and he shook his head ruefully.

"You're having me on," he said with a wry smile. Remus sipped at his tea with a smug expression.

"Ah, but see if we don't dine like kings tonight because of it," he said, shocking Harry all over again as he tapped his ear, hinting that Dobby had likely heard his comments.

It turned out Dobby had indeed heard what Remus had said, and the four course meal they were served was certainly testimony to the culinary gifts of house-elves.

"What brought this on?" Moody asked as he stared at the meal laid out before them, having stopped by just a few minutes beforehand. He refused to dine with them, preferring only things made by his own hand, but sat with them at the dining table nonetheless. His fried peanut butter and banana sandwich was in stark contrast to their banquet.

"Remus insulted Molly's cooking, and Dobby heard him," Harry supplied, and Remus felt like throwing his napkin at the boy.

"That was foolish of you," Moody observed, turning to look at Remus. His magical eye, however, remained on Harry, as it nearly always was since picking him up at the Dursleys.

"Have you ever been pranked by the Weasley twins?" Remus hinted threateningly.

Harry's lip quirked, but even as he mock-threatened him, Remus realized Harry wouldn't repeat his joke to anyone who actually might pass it on to Molly. He'd never hurt Molly's feelings that way. Still, it was fun to remind the boy that he had once been a Marauder, and to bear that in mind if he decided to give Remus a hard time.

"Speaking of which, I caught the twins trying to sneak on to Privet Drive the other day," Moody said. Harry stilled, and Remus stifled a groan.

"I'd forgotten they know where he lives," Remus said.

"They heard Molly railing against the Dursleys when we first brought him back," Moody said, tilting his head at Harry but speaking to Remus.

"I think that's my cue to leave," Harry said dryly, and stood.

"Don't leave on my account," Moody protested, and Remus flinched at his lack of subtlety.

"Not at all. I've some studying to do," Harry replied, and Remus glared at Moody as he left the room, leaving a half-finished plate behind.

There were things Harry was willing to talk about, and things one did not broach at all. The Dursleys was one of the latter. He shrugged off all of Remus' attempts to get him to discuss what Petunia had said. All he would say was that he wasn't surprised and that it was a relief anyway. Even Molly, who had more history with Harry than he did, hadn't been able to draw him out about what his aunt had said.

"I wish you wouldn't have done that," Remus said softly after Harry had gone upstairs. They both breathed a sigh of relief that Mrs. Black hadn't heard the teenager as he climbed the stairs.

Mrs. Black had finally noticed Kreacher's absence, and was now especially sensitive to sound, as if constantly waiting to hear from him. It had made the last week extremely difficult. Harry was always there to help, thankfully, as Remus frantically tried to silence the woman and struggled with the curtains, but no matter how he tried to control it, rage rose up within him that was nearly overwhelming in its intensity.

The wolf wanted Remus to hurl every curse known to Merlin and man at the painting until it was nothing but cinder and ash, yet he knew he couldn't. For Harry's sake, he couldn't lose control like that. For a werewolf in a heightened emotional state, there was no guarantee he'd be able to get it back. Besides, it wouldn't do any good. He and Sirius had tried both of their curse repertoires and even some they unearthed from old Black tomes in the hopes of countering dark for dark.

"It's for the best. I've things to discuss with you anyway."

Remus had to bite his tongue from saying anything sharp. After all, Moody liked Harry in his own way. It was that their relationship dynamic was… odd. After all, Harry had thought he'd known the Auror for nearly a year, but instead had been interacting with Barty Crouch Jr.

In old Alastor Moody's lifetime, few, if any people, had ever seen the Auror as vulnerable as Harry had, and each time the boy accidentally slipped up by mentioning something that had occurred the year Moody was imprisoned, the grizzled Auror was reminded all over again of the task he'd failed.

"Harry hasn't been eating well," Remus said in lieu of explanation.

"I can see that. Is the boy still spending his time out in front of the banshee's portrait?" Moody asked, directing them both towards the business at hand. Remus nodded.

"I'll be here for the next few days. When do you plan to leave?"

"Tomorrow," Remus replied, absently pushing his own plate away. Suddenly he'd lost his appetite as well.

"Poppy says you're in for a rough time of it again," Moody observed, and Remus wondered if the man even knew how what the word 'subtlety' meant.

"It appears so."

"How long do you think you'll be at Hogwarts?"

"I'm not sure. Not more than a few days, I should hope," Remus replied, attempting optimism. Moody snorted.

"Of course," Alastor drawled.

"What did you wish to speak with me about?" Remus prompted.

"Molly spoke with me about checking up on Harry more often. She mentioned that you'd had a conversation, and that she wouldn't be by for a while. Are there any problems I should be aware of?"

"She spoke to you?" Remus asked in surprise. Moody snorted.

"Actually, she was hinting that I should send Kingsly and Nymphadora by more often, but I chose to decide for myself who the boy was most comfortable with," Moody replied.

"I see."

"So? Arthur's been clucking about the house like a mother hen since your conversation with Molly, so I assume it wasn't about next year's Hogwarts curriculum."

"I told her she had no business trying to mother Harry when she wouldn't let her own children anywhere near him," Remus said plainly.

"Goodness. That was forthright of you," Moody said, almost mockingly. Remus frowned. He wasn't that prissy about decorum, was he?

"Yes, well, Harry's got enough on his mind without being reminded that his trip to the Ministry was a total disaster," Remus replied darkly.

"Good on you. It's about time someone talked to her," Moody agreed and stood up.

"Wait. That's what you wanted to talk to me about?" Remus asked, bewildered.

"That's it," Moody said, and quirked his head as Mrs. Black's portrait came to life once more, shrieking loud enough to make him flinch, even though she was several rooms away.

_"Spawn of filth and pond-scum! Half-breeds, craven despoilers of my home! Be gone! Abominations, you soil this home with your polluted blood!" _

"Ah, it sounds as if Tonks has arrived," Moody observed calmly and headed upstairs towards the Entrance Hall. Harry was already there with Tonks, trying to close the moth- eaten curtains. Remus jumped in to help as well, and they thankfully were closed relatively swiftly.

"Sorry about that…." Tonks was apologizing to the room in general, but Remus tuned her out as he took in Harry's expression. They both still had their hands on the curtains, pinning them closed. Harry's face was pinched with pain, but his eyes glittered in a way Remus had never seen before.

"Harry?" he asked softly. Tonks was talking to Moody, whose magical eye was still on Harry even as he focused his attention away from him.

"She's dead, right? How can someone dead continue to cause so much pain?" Harry asked quietly.

"It happens all the time," Remus replied sadly. There were many ways the dead still continued to haunt the living, especially in the magical world.

"She made it a nightmare for him. He was doing okay until he had to stay here," Harry said with raw emotion.

"I know she did," Remus said. On that, they both agreed.

"Right, then," Harry said, and seemed to come to some sort of decision.

"Harry? What is it?" Remus asked as Harry stepped away from the portrait and began heading up the stairs towards his room.

"Nothing. I've got some studying to do. Good night, Remus," Harry replied softly.

"Good night, Harry! Don't let the bed bugs bite!" Tonks called after him, and Remus had to hold firmly onto the curtains to keep them from flying open again.

"Your indoor voice, if you please, Nymphadora," Remus scolded gently. Tonks blushed, but smiled cheekily when Harry turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised in puzzlement. _Goodness. Have you never heard of that expression? _Remus wondered.

"Well, if you used the right charms you wouldn't have to worry about it anyway, would you?" Moody growled.

_Evidently Alastor hasn't either. _

"Night, Tonks, Moody," Harry said quietly as he disappeared up the stairs.


	6. Beginning at the End

**Disclaimer: **HP – still not mine. ;-)

**Author's Note: **To Nicky15, beta-extraordinaire. I know what day it is. Take deep breaths, because you're going to do great! His nibs and I send positive vibes your way.

To those of you who've been reviewing, thank you sooo much! Your comments have been deeply appreciated (and utilized at times, too. _g_) Remember, it's okay to feed the fanfiction author (reviews, that is). :-D I hope you enjoy!

**All That's Left Behind**

**Chapter 6 – Beginning at the End**

Remus woke feeling fuzzy-headed in a way that felt disconcertingly familiar. _Odd._ His tongue was thick and dry in his mouth, and his ears kept registering a grating, high pitched keening sound. His hands felt tingly and as he arched his back in a deep stretch, the irritating keening noise began to shape itself into words.

_Murderer! Abomination! Filthy, disgusting, treacherous, dishonor to everything it touches! Get away from me, freak! Stop it this instant! Everything you touch turns to decay! You have no right to do this! _

Remus was out of bed and threw on his dressing gown with lightening speed. His senses might be a bit slow at the moment, but he now understood why. A sleep charm had been cast on him. If he were human, he'd still be asleep. He certainly felt befuddled enough. _I smell something burning. What do I smell!_

Werewolves processed magic differently on a normal basis, but just a few days away from the full moon, his metabolism was working double-time to prepare his body for the change. Most charms, much to Poppy's dismay, wore off far more quickly on him than on ordinary Wizards.

He tore upstairs with no effort at stealth, wand drawn, prepared for battle, but froze at the sight before him. Harry stood on a stool in the Entrance Hall with his back to Remus, applying what looked like a miniature Muggle blow-torch slowly and meticulously to the surface of Mrs. Black's portrait.

Moody stood off to the side, and Remus closed his mouth when he realized he was gaping. The remaining portraits had all been removed from their place in the Hall and were faced in, leaning against the wall. _So she can't escape. Not that we've ever seen her leave that frame_, Remus' mind supplied absently even while feeling at a loss for coherent thought.

Alastor nodded towards the back of the room, indicating that's where they could talk. As he set out to join Remus, Moody shot a stunning spell at the stack of portraits. Remus' eyes kept slipping back to Mrs. Black's painting, and how she screeched at Sirius' godson. He'd never thought anyone else could provoke Mrs. Black's ire as well as her disgraced son. He was wrong.

Her black cap had partially slipped off her head, revealing black hair heavily peppered with white that hung limply against her scalp. Her jaundiced skin was pulled taut against her skull as she bellowed her rage, spittle flying from her lips, and Remus marveled how someone who was painted to look near death could have so much energy. _It's the hate that energizes her_.

Her bony hands were contorted into claws which she futilely tried to attack Harry with and her face was mere inches from his. A few times she even moved as if to try to bite him, revealing decayed, blackened teeth that looked sharp enough to easily rend flesh. With each insult she yelled, Harry's hair ruffled faintly, as if it were her breath that moved it, even though Remus knew that to be impossible.

From this angle he could catch the occasional glimpse of Harry's face as he applied the torch to canvas. His expression was stony and his jaw was clenched in determination. His skin was nearly gray and glistened with a sheen of sweat. Remus could smell with his heightened senses just how distressed Harry was, even if he was struggling not to show it.

_…He told me of you. Of what he did! Tricked you, didn't he! Led the poisoned fruit of my flesh to his death!…_

"What are you doing!" Remus hissed at Moody, not even bothering to be quiet. With all the noise Mrs. Black was making, there was no way for Harry to overhear them. "You cast a sleeping charm on me!"

"I forgot about your metabolism, wolf," Moody shook his head as though disappointed in himself.

"What in bloody blazes is going on? Was this your idea? What is Harry doing?"

"It was all the boy's idea, and a stroke of genius, really. It seems he got the inspiration sneaking a peek at one of his aunt's cooking shows," Moody explained with enthusiasm. Remus frowned as he took a closer look at the tool in Harry's hand.

"It's a Muggle cooking tool? Merlin, I think I've seen one once, in France. For crème brulee, isn't it?"

"It turns out it's used for more than that. Dung procured one far too easily. It seems Mundungus is involved in illegal doings with Muggles as well as Wizards," Moody supplied.

"But Sirius and I tried fire," Remus objected.

"The torch is much hotter and more tightly focused. The canvas has been charmed not to burn, but he's melting the paint right off it. It's going to take a while, but it's working."

"Listen to her. This can't be healthy for him. Why aren't you helping? Couldn't you have taken his idea and tried for yourself?" Remus asked in frustration. The distress signals Harry's body was radiating were potent enough that it took considerable effort to keep from fidgeting.

"Do you think I want him doing this do this? Of course I tried, Lupin. Somehow her portrait actually manifested repelling charms when I set the torch to paint. Even deafening charms dissolve within a few feet of the beastly woman."

"She sounds like she's dying," Remus said with regret.

"In a way, she is. The magic's in the paint, mostly. At least what animates her," Alastor agreed.

"Why can Harry do it but you can't?"

"It seems the house knows its rightful owner and is allowing it," Moody replied and Remus growled in frustration, then paused, surprised, as the last of Moody's words sunk in.

"Really?" Remus breathed at the full ramifications of Moody's statement. He hadn't even known how Sirius had gotten Grimmauld Place originally. He'd intended to ask someday, when the subject wasn't as sensitive, but Remus never got the chance. Last _he'd_ heard, Sirius had been written completely out of the Black wills.

"Not too many people knew, but Black became Number 12's legal owner _after_ being declared a dark wizard," Moody informed him.

"How thoughtful of Mrs. Black to leave a provision for her son in case he decided to go dark," Remus said with disgust, glancing toward Harry automatically, but there was no way he could hear their conversation.

"It was lucky for us," Moody agreed.

"I thought everything was in limbo because the Ministry hasn't even declared Sirius legally dead," Remus said, forcing himself to say the word. _Dead._

"The Ministry's tied up as much as they can of Black's fortune, but a lot of his inheritance is steeped in blood magic, which doesn't need Ministry death authentication spells in order to fulfill last wills and testaments," Moody said with disapproval.

"And even being an escapee, his will is honored?" Remus asked, curious despite the circumstances.

He had no idea how this sort of thing worked. Dark creatures weren't allowed to own property of any kind, so he'd never had to deal with it. When his own parents had passed, their property was left to his niece, whom he hadn't talked to in years. Occasionally he still wondered what she'd decided to do with the place.

"I heard it was a close thing getting the legacy spells to even accept Potter," Moody informed Remus, surprisingly communicative, "Dark magic like that can kill an unacceptable designee, and the boy is half-blood, after all." Remus shook his head in disgust.

"I know, Lupin. That shouldn't matter, but to a lot of people it still does. In this case, while Lily Potter's sister and parents were Muggle, she was still a formidable witch. Apparently, Albus found a way to spruce of Potter's credentials by playing up James' family tree, which is as pureblood as they come."

"Does Harry know why he can get at the painting but you can't?" Remus asked. He prayed the teenager didn't. He had strong suspicions that Harry would be devastated if he knew.

"I don't think so. The boy's used to being able to do odd things others can't, and I think he's dismissed this as another manifestation of that."

"Shouldn't at least the deafening charm work on him them, being the new homeowner?" Remus asked.

"Oh no. Potter couldn't silence the painting any more than Black could. But he does seem to be allowed past its' safety mechanisms."

"This can't be good for him," Remus said candidly, torn at what he needed to do. Moody rolled his good eye in exasperation even while keeping the magical one trained on Harry.

"I don't know why it didn't work for you and Black. Maybe Black didn't have the stomach for it, being his mother and all. I can respect that," Moody said. Remus felt his face contort into a near snarl, but the old Auror was completely unfazed.

_Of course we tried! Do you think Sirius wanted her here? To be trapped with her! How dare you think we wanted to leave something like this for Harry to do?_

"Nothing worked, and all she did was yell until our eardrums rang," Remus said between gritted teeth, regretful that it sounded so much like an excuse.

The irony was it now seemed that if Remus had encouraged Sirius to vent his anger on the portrait, the Azkaban escapee likely _could_ have done something long ago. _Merlin, I've failed you so badly, Sirius_. But in his heart of hearts, Remus knew that for all that Sirius had hated his mother, the Animagus probably _wouldn't_ have had the strength to do what Harry was doing. After all, there had been love there somewhere. Long ago.

"I'm not laying blame, Lupin, I'm just saying you should let Potter finish what he started. Personally, I'm pleased the boy's willing to do the unpleasant work and get the job done."

"It's what Dumbledore's taught him to do," Remus said with heat, surprised how bright the anger burned within his breastbone. This close to the full moon, he could only mask his emotions for so long.

"I won't argue with that. I've got a bone or two myself to pick… But that's none of your concern," Moody caught himself before confiding anything more.

Remus felt a brief pang of disappointment. He'd have liked to hear what Alastor's complaints were, but that was the way all the old guard Order members were. They took chain of command very seriously. Moody undoubtedly lodged complaints and moved on.

"This is going to take a while, I'll grant you that. It's not that big a torch, but I've got plenty of refills. One night of this is much better than having to tip-toe through the house as though we've no right to be here," Moody continued, then paused. His expression softened into what Remus could almost take for sympathy.

"This is Potter's new home, whether he likes it or not, and I think it's best to allow him to take action with what he can. He's purging this house of her, Lupin. That's more than Black could do."

"You shouldn't have cast a sleeping charm on me," Remus said.

"Probably not. It's hardly the first mistake I've made, is it?" Moody asked dryly.

"He shouldn't have to do this," Remus said.

"I think he'll be glad you're here," Moody said honestly.

"Well, we've left him alone long enough, haven't we?" Remus asked. Moody nodded, heading off to stun the portraits again. Remus could hear muffled protests as they started to wake up and were trying to respond to Mrs. Black's screams.

_"Poison progeny, a mere echo of what real power is! He told me you loved my spawn, the foul beast. If that's what you do for love, I count myself lucky for how you befoul me! Murderer, cold-blooded, callous child! You are not of the Light! You are evil! You have no honor for the legacy of the Blacks. Everything you touch turns to dust, and while you weep for the loss of it, know I'll laugh at your anguish. Murderer! This is what you deserve, filthy, grubby little boy. You get what you deserve!"_

Remus approached Harry and gently put a hand on his shoulder to let him know he was there. The boy was rigid with tension. The tendons in his forearms stood out even as he used both hands to hold the torch steady, and he flinched at Remus' touch. However, it was Harry's expression that stunned Remus for a moment in it's' rawness before he was able to regroup.

Harry's eyes were huge behind his slightly fogged glasses, and his pupils dilated to the point that only slivers of green showed. His lips were compressed thinly, and the way one side of his face dimpled indicated he was chewing madly on his inner cheek. His face was grayish white and soaked with sweat, giving him an almost wax-like appearance.

_Tell me you aren't internalizing everything that shrew is saying_? Remus silently begged, horrified, and as soon as it occurred to him, Remus could see from Harry's physical reactions that his instincts had read the situation correctly. Harry agreed with Mrs. Black.

_Then it's that much better that he be the one to silence you, isn't it?_ Remus thought at the portrait venomously and made it a point to touch Harry again to remind him he was still at his side. He pretended not to notice when the boy flinched again.

"What can I do to help?" Remus shouted over the din.

Harry blinked owlishly for a moment before shaking his head as if to collect his thoughts. He shrugged apologetically and tried to smile in return, but it was closer to a grimace. Remus nodded in understanding, and while Harry resumed melting Mrs. Black off the wall, Remus watched and tried to see how he could be helpful.

After observing for a few minutes, he began to occasionally shoot loosely cast cooling charms in Harry's direction, and was pleased at the look of relief it brought to the boy's face.

_If only they could have gagged her when she sat for that portrait_, Remus thought. Every word out of that monstrosity's mouth was pure venom. Evidently she had been listening when Kreacher spoke to her last summer and understood who Harry was, for her taunts seemed designed to cut deeply.

Remus hated Mrs. Black. He'd hated her since his Hogwarts days, when Sirius first revealed what his home life was like. To have her tormenting Sirius at Grimmauld Place, even after her death… Everything about her presence was anathema to what the Order stood for, and what Sirius had tried to leave behind.

Harry rolled his shoulders a few times as if to get out the kinks. Occasionally he'd let go with one hand to wipe his sweaty palm on his pants while still diligently continuing to apply the torch with the other. Left to right, in a slow, even rhythm. It was oddly soothing.

An hour later, Harry's worn, threadbare shirt was still soaked with sweat (even with Remus trying to help) and his glasses kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. Remus had grabbed a towel from his room, and occasionally dabbed at Harry's face as he continued forward. They weren't even halfway done yet, but there was an unspoken consensus not to stop.

Harry originally started at the bottom of the painting, slowly moving the torch from side to side, but after a while realized that the running paint made it easier if he worked downwards rather than up, so Moody transfigured the stool into a ladder with wheels. Remus' job was to roll the ladder from one side of the portrait to the other as Harry worked across it to keep his arms from getting so fatigued as he worked his way down the painting.

Mrs. Black squatted in the bottom corner of the portrait now, steering clear of the running paint, and continued her vicious tirade without having to take a breath. Thankfully, she'd begun taking aim at Remus as well, which at least divided her attention a little from Harry.

They didn't speak. The time for talk would come after she was gone. No words were necessary, though. Remus felt something ease deep inside him at the repeated looks of gratitude on Harry's face at remaining by his side. _This old werewolf is still needed_. They were finally tearing away the last of that which made Grimmauld Place a nightmare for Sirius. If only it didn't have to be posthumous.

Tonight, when the last of Mrs. Black melted away, Remus fully intended to return to his bedroom and drink himself silly, full moon be damned. But for now, the last of Sirius Black's hateful mother's screams were an odd sort of catharsis, and even the angry wolf that lived within him eased off just a little. Perhaps this month's change wouldn't be so bad after all.

"I'm hoping to only be away for a few days," Remus said early the next morning. He looked haggard and drawn, but oddly relaxed and blinked rather slowly. Just a few hours earlier they'd chipped the last of Mrs. Black's frame from the wall, utterly exhausted.

The Entrance Hall had, up until then, been the last place left relatively untouched by Order members as they strove to make the home more hospitable. With Mrs. Black finally silenced, Harry suspected that bright paint colors and transfigured fixtures would soon replace the peeling, faded wallpaper and uber-gothic candelabra. The rest of the Black family portraits now resided in the same dingy corner of the attic where the house-elf plaques were stacked, much to Harry's relief.

Now that Harry understood how magical paintings could be used for spying, he paid special attention to what he was doing and how it could be perceived. It was nerve wracking to feel like a bug under glass, and the first thing he'd done when he'd returned to Grimmauld Place was remove every wall hanging in his room.

"I hate leaving like this. We finally got something accomplished," Remus continued, and Harry could see the genuine regret in his eyes.

"It's all right, Remus. I understand," Harry said, then gave a small grin. "As long as you realize there might be repercussions to your being gone when Tonks realizes she has free reign to paint the walls."

"I was hoping you might prevail upon Ms. Tonks to show some restraint," Remus said with warmth in his voice.

"I'm afraid Ms. Tonks cares little for my fashion sense, and that the walls might well be chartreuse by the time you get back," Harry replied, and smiled briefly as he shook his head, visualizing it. Remus smiled brightly in return.

"There's nothing for it then," Remus agreed in mock despair, then turned more serious.

"Actually, I've a favor I hate to ask," he continued.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"While I'm gone, would you feed Buckbeak and stop by to see how he's doing a few times during the day?"

"He's still here?" Harry asked, his mind reeling in dismay. How could he have forgotten about Buckbeak?

"He is," Remus agreed regretfully.

"I can't believe I haven't even thought about him," Harry said, distressed.

"We've all had a lot on our minds," Remus replied, "Actually, it's much easier now that Dobby's here," he continued, trying to reassure Harry. "I suspect Dobby hasn't even had to tap Hogwarts yet for dead rats to feed him."

"What did Kreacher do to him? I never knew," Harry asked. Buckbeak gave Sirius so much, Harry couldn't believe he'd forgotten about him. _How selfish is that?_ Harry berated himself.

"Kreacher broke his wing," Remus said reluctantly.

"He'll be okay, though, won't he?"

"He's as healed as he can be. Between Poppy and Hagrid, Buckbeak has gotten excellent care," Remus answered evasively.

"You know I'm going to make you tell me," Harry said firmly. Remus sighed.

"He needs to fly. His wing's mostly healed. Now he just needs exercise. If he doesn't get it soon, he might not be able to fly again."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Remus had put both hands on Harry's shoulders, but let go with one to use two fingers to gently guide Harry by the chin to look him in the eye.

"We're working on ways to help Buckbeak, Harry. Please don't let this get to you. You've done nothing wrong, and actually, I think Buckbeak will be pleased to see you," Remus said sincerely.

"I know. I'm sorry. Don't worry, I'm fine," Harry replied.

"You did a good thing last night. I must confess to no small amount of gratification at stomping upstairs this morning," Remus admitted.

Harry forced a small smile. He'd hated Mrs. Black's portrait with a passion, but oddly found that having to be quiet while inside wasn't difficult at all for him. He'd tried not to be noticed at the Dursleys for years.

"Be well, Remus, and come back soon," Harry said and stuck out his hand. Remus wrapped it with both of his hands, holding it more than shaking it.

"I will, and I'll be back as soon as I can," Remus promised. Harry nodded, and Remus called out, "Hogwarts," as he stepped into the Floo.

Harry watched as Remus disappeared, and it was all he could do to stop himself from asking to go with the last Marauder. He didn't want to stay in Sirius' old home. Not that Hogwarts would be any better, mind, but Remus hadn't been lying when he said that there weren't many books considered 'appropriate for young Wizards' in the Black library. Harry had already read them all, and while they would be inordinately helpful, they weren't quite what he was looking for.

He'd also read the texts Remus had sent for his birthday three times now, and while loathe to admit it, studying for O.W.L.'s with Hermione and Ron had left his older Hogwarts texts entirely too fresh in his mind for rereading them to be useful.

_And on top of everything else, I need to figure out how to get Buckbeak out of here_, Harry thought and sighed. There was no way Kreacher would win this battle. He'd see to it that Buckbeak was free of Grimmauld Place and could fly again, even if Harry himself never could. _But surely now that Umbridge is out…? _His mind whispered hopefully, but Harry squelched that line of reasoning before it got carried away. He took nothing for granted anymore. Besides, he had no business _flying_, when there was so much he had to do. Harry had made a lot of promises to himself, and he intended to keep them all.

"Harry Potter isn't eating his breakfast," Dobby gently scolded, suddenly at his side. Harry had intended to go back to bed after seeing Remus off, but found himself too awake to do so, even though his eyes felt like they could barely focus.

"I'm sorry, Dobby. I'm just not hungry."

"Is there something else Dobby could make for Harry Potter? Something more appealing?" Dobby entreated. He was wearing a tea towel with palm trees on it. The trunks danced from side to side and occasionally shook out coconuts that collected small piles underneath them.

"How about a little fruit? Maybe something light might be better?" Harry suggested, mesmerized by the bizarre towel for a moment as he tried to think of something to make Dobby feel better, but even as he said it, he realized it sounded good.

A small platter of fruit materialized in front of him in less than a minute, and as Harry tucked in, Tonks dropped heavily in the seat across from him.

"Morning," she grunted, and a cup of black coffee materialized in front of her. She threw back her head and yelled, "Elf! You're a life savior!" then smiled tiredly at Harry.

She was wearing a threadbare t-shirt and enormous, plaid flannel pajama pants. Her hair, a more muted brown this morning, was short and stuck in all directions. He'd already teased her about her fuzzy slippers during the last visit, but still privately found hot pink fur slip-ons hilarious. He'd never seen anything like them, as Aunt Petunia had always worn scuff slippers that matched her dressing gowns.

"Morning," Harry replied politely. The metamorphagus scrubbed at her face roughly, then ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp.

"You look like how I feel," she observed after eyeing him critically for a moment.

"Thanks," he replied dryly after a pause. She took another swig of coffee and put her elbows on the table, propping the cup between both hands and peering at him over the rim. _Okay._ _Now is a good time, _Harry thought, and took the plunge.

"Tonks?"

"Yeeeaaah?" the metamorphmagus asked, struggling to remain articulate while yawning at the same time.

"If Dementors showed up today and I had to cast a Patronus, would the Ministry know where I was?" he asked. Tonk's eyes widened. They were blue at the moment, and Harry realized they looked a lot like Sirius' eyes had. _Is that her natural look_, he wondered, _or did she choose the similarity?_

"Goodness, Harry. No morning chit-chat for you," she said, then her lips curled into a sympathetic smile. "We don't expect any nasty surprises this summer," she said with a reassuring voice.

"Then what if Lucius Malfoy finds a way to get in? If I cast a spell, will the Ministry know where the Order is?" Harry pursued. Tonks shook her head.

"No, the Fidelius Charm blocks the address from showing up anywhere. However, Ministry owls can still send letters demanding that you show up there."

"Would it arrive as quickly as it had at the Dursleys?" Harry asked, then added, "And could owls be traced here?"

"Harry, are you expecting any owls this morning from the Ministry?" Tonks asked nervously. He smiled to hide his disappointment.

She'd already answered the most critical question he hadn't asked but needed to know most. Namely, was Grimmauld Place shielded enough to allow minors to cast spells without the Ministry knowing?

Harry couldn't get Draco Malfoy's bragging words out of his head about how he'd been able to practice magic long before starting at Hogwarts, and had hoped that the Blacks, being an old pureblood family like the Malfoys, might have the same sort of thing in effect. Of course, he dared not ask those things directly. It would lead to too many questions and more scrutiny than he was already under, which was the last thing he wanted.

"No owls. I'm just curious. I want to know what might happen if I have to defend myself, in case something goes wrong," Harry replied, then sighed. "I find it's helpful to know the consequences _before_ something occurs," he added, and the irony was not lost on either of them. Tonks took another gulp of coffee and leaned back.

"You'd get an owl message from the Ministry within the hour, I think," she said after a moment's thought. "Nothing can trace a Fidelius Charm, though, so even if the Ministry sent hundreds of letters, there would still be no way anyone could find out where you are."

"You'll find the Ministry's changed its tune on a number of things, especially when it comes to you," Moody added from the doorway, startling Harry but not the metamorphmagus, who shot the veteran Auror a dark look.

""I feel like I've been trying to sleep on the Knight Bus," Tonks told him with an accusing tone. "Anything you feel like sharing?"

Harry nibbled on a slice of apple and stared into his tea cup as the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. _Uh oh._

"You're not terribly observant for an Auror," Moody growled.

"Beast. I catch you casting a sleeping spell on me again, you won't find your eye for a week," she threatened, and Harry couldn't tell if she was serious or not.

"How'd you do it?" she added, nodding her head towards the Entrance Hall.

"Through culinary skills," Moody replied, then paused for reaction. "HA!" he abruptly laughed, making Harry jump, and accio'd the small butane torch Harry had used the night before. Tonks brightened, clearly visualizing, as Moody lit it for effect. The soft hiss of flame sounded ominously loud in the kitchen.

"Brilliant," she breathed.

"Thank the lad. It was his idea," Moody said.

"_The lad_ doesn't seem to take well to sleeping charms either. You look exhausted, Harry. What made you try it, Moody?"

"I didn't. Potter there got rid of our resident harpy," Moody replied. If he hadn't been paying close attention, Harry would have missed the way Tonks opened her mouth to ask more questions and the subtle shake of the older Auror's head indicating to leave it be. She digested it all in less than a few seconds, then turned a big smile towards Harry, clearly prepared to change the subject.

"I think a celebration is in _Order_," Tonks declared, clearly pleased with the appalling pun. Harry smacked his hand against his forehead.

"Please. No more. I'm begging you," Harry teased, feeling oddly more optimistic by the moment.

Moody smiled widely, and while he still looked creepy, Harry was at least getting more familiar with when the old Auror was feeling humorous rather than deadly serious.

Celebrating turned out to be in the form of blasting the Wizarding Wireless while Tonks twirled around the room, occasionally pestering Harry into joining when she decided he'd refused her enough. It was fun to watch Tonks and Moody interact, Harry realized. They made for an odd team, although he had no idea if they even worked together at the Ministry. It was just an impression he got.

While Tonks gyrated and wiggled around the room in a way that occasionally made Harry blush, the older Auror animated items of furniture to get out of her way, and sometimes to even dance with her. Moody didn't dance, of course, but Harry thought he saw the Auror's robe hem jumping slightly to the beat, as if he were discreetly keeping time with his good foot.

It was Tonk's therapy, Harry realized as he watched her dance in front of the scorched section of wall where Mrs. Black's portrait had once been. A couple of times, even as she smiled brightly, Harry could see tears in her eyes as well. Her mother had been Sirius' favorite cousin, after all, and this was Tonk's way of thumbing her nose at the house of Black for all that had been done, both to her mother and to Sirius. Sometimes the best revenge was to simply _live_.


	7. Falling Into Place

**Author's Disclaimer**: HP – You have no idea how much I wish this universe were mine. ;-)

**Author's Note**: Thank you to Nicky15 for the super-fast turnaround. For those of you asking when things start to happen, enjoy! Please be sure to review if you have a moment. Since I don't get to enjoy JKR's tidy royalties, reviews have to suffice:-D

**All That's Left Behind**

**Chapter 7 – Falling Into Place**

Since coming to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Harry found he couldn't shake the feeling of being _watched, _even when he was the only one in a room. While everyone respected his obsessive compulsion to study, they were still keeping a close eye on him.

He found it maddening, as he had no idea what to do with the kind of scrutiny he was under. Normally, the only time people watched _him _that intently was when they were waiting for him to mess up or to catch him doing something wrong…

Which was why Harry nearly laughed aloud when both Moody and Tonks had to go to the Ministry for an unexpected mandatory meeting. It had been two days since the full moon. Although by all accounts Remus was doing better than last month, no one expected him before the end of the week. The Aurors' surprise meeting meant that, the first time since leaving the Dursleys, he was truly alone in the not-so-noble house of Black.

_Except for Dobby_, he amended silently, but Harry trusted the house-elf's discretion, and there were things he needed to do. He'd been patient, and waited for an opportunity. Finally, one had presented itself.

_If Remus knew I was going to be left alone here, he'd have kittens_, he thought as he raced upstairs.

_First place to check - the attic_. That's where they put all the other dark artifacts, Harry recalled. While he understood it was undoubtedly dangerous going up there alone, he couldn't afford for anyone to even begin to suspect what he wanted, for they'd move them the instant they knew. _If they're even here… But they have to be. Where else would they put them?_

_If the books they sorted through are still in the house, they're probably warded, though_, he realized. _How can I get access to them?_ He had no idea how long the Auror's meeting would be for, and dared not waste any time dithering. Abruptly, Harry stopped as he reached the third floor, slightly breathless, and feeling like a fool.

"Dobby?" he asked. The house-elf appeared almost instantly.

"Yes, sir, Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby asked, his eyes wide and eager to please. Harry took a breath and instead of the question he intended to ask, said the first thing that came to mind.

"How come you don't use a wand?"

Dobby's eyes widened, and Harry realized it wasn't right to tower over the little house-elf if he was going to ask favors. He sat down and faced Dobby, leaning his back against the banister as he pulled his knees to his chest.

"House-elves don't use wands. That's for Wizards," Dobby replied, shifting from foot to foot.

"Could you teach me how to do wandless magic?" Harry asked softly, and Dobby stepped back so quickly Harry was afraid he'd flee the room.

"Harry Potter is a Wizard, sir! Harry Potter doesn't need house-elf magic!" Dobby said in a strained, high-pitched voice.

"Easy, Dobby. I know I've got magic of my own. But I can't use it until I get to school, and even then, if someone gets a hold of my wand, I'm an target. You can apparate all over Hogwarts, and when you were at the Dursleys, you fooled the Ministry into thinking _I_ had used magic," Harry said in a soothing voice. He didn't want to sound accusatory, after all. He was just making a point.

"I'm so sorry, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby wailed, and huge tears rolled down his cheeks as he whipped his head to the side and began banging it on the banister railing across from where Harry sat. Harry realized it was distinctly possible the house-elf might throw himself down the stairs altogether.

"Stop it this instant!" Harry yelled, jumping forward and grabbing the little elf by the shoulders. Dobby's lip still quivered, but he stilled and grew silent.

"I just mean that I need to be able to do that! Magic, that is," Harry clarified, "I need to be able to practice magic without the Ministry knowing. I'm not blaming you for anything. You were trying to help me," Harry said and had to force his lip not turn up in an ironic twist as he spoke the words. Dobby's help had proved memorable, certainly.

"We're born with magic. Wizards grow into theirs," Dobby supplied hesitantly. "Dobby isn't not sure what Harry Potter is asking, sir."

"Draco Malfoy used to boast about how he practiced magic all the time before he came to Hogwarts. How did he do that?" Harry asked after a moment's thought. Dobby was the perfect one to ask this, after all. Details… He needed details.

"Master made sure he could," Dobby said, easily slipping in the title of his former owner, and Harry suppressed a shudder as he couldn't help but wonder just how free Dobby truly was of Lucius Malfoy.

"Right. Okay. I can see I'm going about this all wrong," Harry said to himself and let go of Dobby's shoulders. "No hurting yourself, right? This is just us talking." Dobby nodded obediently.

"Do you know if the rest of the books from the Black library are still here?"

"Certainly, sir. They're in a hidden room in the basement, near where the traitor used to live," Dobby said, and Harry was surprised at the venom in the small elf's voice.

"What traitor?" Harry whispered. Surely he didn't mean Sirius? The escaped convict had been partial to the kitchen, and spent a great deal of time there. He claimed it was the cheeriest place in the house, which at the time especially, wasn't saying much.

"Kreacher," Dobby spat in almost a snarl, the tips of his ears curling with anger. _Those are pointy teeth, too. _

"He betrayed his master. There's nothing worse a house-elf can do," Dobby said angrily, and Harry wondered how the house-elf balanced what he'd done to protect Harry with what Kreacher had done. After a moment's thought, he decided that whatever Dobby did to rationalize things, Harry had no business making him feel insecure about it.

The independent minded house-elf had tried to protect Harry at great personal expense. He shuddered to think what Lucius Malfoy would have done to Dobby if he'd succeeded in taking him home after the meeting with Dumbledore, when Harry survived the Chamber of Secrets. He had no doubt that Dobby's life would have been forfeit, but not before a considerable amount of suffering.

"Are there wards around the books?" Harry asked, holding his breath. Dobby nodded.

"I really need to be able to get a hold of them, and not have anyone know I'm reading them. Can you help me with that?" Harry pleaded. Dobby looked distressed for a moment, then appeared to come to some sort of decision.

"House-elf magic isn't something Wizards can do, Harry Potter," Dobby said slowly. Harry shook his head.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to upset you. I've been wondering about it and thought, since we're friends, that you wouldn't mind if I asked," Harry said with a shrug.

Dobby's lip quivered violently at his words, and his ears flattened against the back of his head. Harry wasn't sure what that signaled.

"Harry Potter is Dobby's friend?" the little house-elf asked in a tiny voice.

"Of course you are," Harry said gently. The house-elf's eyes filled with tears, but instead of doing anything dramatic (_thank Merlin_), he smiled hugely.

"Dobby is Harry Potter's friend, too," Dobby declared with such conviction that it made Harry pause for a second, but realized he had to move on.

"Erm, sorry to cut this short, but how about I meet you downstairs so you can show me where those books are?" Harry asked. Dobby blinked out of existence, and Harry snorted softly as he began running downstairs as fast as he could.

"This way," Dobby encouraged as Harry entered the kitchen, waving him into the pantry. Harry walked in and frowned as he looked at the tiny room filled with food stuffs. Burlap sacks of kitchen staples such as flour and sugar lined the floors of both sides of the pantry, and wooden shelves were stuffed with jars of preserves, spices, and canned goods of all sorts.

"What am I looking for, Dobby?"

"Here," Dobby said, and pointed his long finger at a spot on the stone wall at the back of the pantry, to the right of the cupboard that housed the water tank and tiny alcove which used to serve as Kreacher's den.

Dobby walked closer to the wall, and pointed to a particular spot, motioning that he wanted Harry to place his palm against a section of surface that seemed a bit smoother than the rest.

_Interesting_, Harry thought as he reached forward and placed his hand where indicated. He'd noticed the water tank cupboard was off center but then never gave it another thought. _You notice these things and dismiss them. Stop doing that. You're missing details. _

The moment Harry's palm touched stone, a section of wall the size of a tall door separated and swung open, forcing Harry to step back, as it was nearly as large as the pantry itself. Dobby snapped his fingers as Harry peered into the gloom, and torch flames sprung to life around him.

The room was larger than he expected – about the size of the Gryffindor boys' dorm room, and completely bare except for stacks upon stacks of books. Hundreds of them. Harry went to take a step forward, but Dobby stopped him.

Harry shook his head in disappointment"That's right. The wards," he said dully._ I am so close_. When he'd first decided on what he wanted to do, he'd been positive that the Black family library was likely to be the place he'd most easily find the information he needed.

Now, though, as he stood in the room and looked at the wealth of knowledge before him, Harry's goals felt more out of reach than ever. He could almost sense magic humming, vibrating in waves from where the books had been stacked. It was unsettling, like having a swarm of gnats buzzing near his ears, and Harry shook his head in discouragement.

"Yes. Harry Potter's friends used strong magic to hide it," Dobby replied, but looked deeply into Harry's eyes.

"What is it? You're trying to tell me something, aren't you?"

"Magic can't hide what belongs to the master of the house," Dobby slowly said. Harry took a step back and shook his head.

"No. That can't be true," Harry said automatically in denial. _No. This can't be happening. Tell me he didn't do this_.

"Dobby can show Harry Potter this room, because this is Harry Potter's house," Dobby said solemnly.

"NO! I don't want it! Couldn't he have given it to Remus?" Harry said and hated that his eyes were starting to water. It made no sense. How could Sirius leave anything to anyone?

"The wards won't tell Harry Potter's friends anything. Harry Potter can read what Harry Potter pleases," Dobby said, distressed at how upset Harry was and trying to soothe him.

How long had the house been his, and why hadn't anyone told him. _Does Remus know?_ Harry wondered, and sagged dejectedly when he realized that his former professor probably did. _Too many secrets_, he thought in defeat, then laughed darkly at the irony. Everyone wanted Harry to not keep things to himself yet they still insisted on keeping things from him.

All his life, he'd never been able to ask for help. He'd had to rely on himself, because there was no one else. Then came Hogwarts. For the longest time, Harry had thought that Dumbledore wanted his confidence, but he couldn't bring himself to give it, no matter how badly he'd wanted the Headmaster's approval. He'd learned long ago that if you gave someone a club, there was a good chance they'd beat you with it.

_Why hadn't the Headmaster told me that Voldemort might be listening and influencing my dreams?_ Harry wondered for the millionth time, and felt his face grimace in pain. How he missed Sirius!

Why couldn't the headmaster have told Harry? If Dumbledore had intended to feed Voldemort false information, that would have made sense. Then Voldemort couldn't know that Harry suspected anything. But Harry had been left alone, feeling like a leper already after saving Mr. Weasley.

He'd felt dirty and tainted because in his dream he'd _wanted_ to hurt Mr. Weasley. Even his friends, as understanding as they were, had been disturbed, and had sent many an unsettled look his way when they thought he wouldn't notice.

What harm would it have done to give just the tiniest bit of reassurance that he was okay? That it wasn't him? _Because it is_…_Now belt up_. _You're wasting time_, he scolded himself. The damage had already been done anyway.

The fact that they still felt the need to keep secrets from him made Harry feel better about the secrets he himself had chosen to harbor. _It's better that they not know. They'd try to stop me, _which struck Harry as incredibly ironic. Looking back on his time at Hogwarts, it was clear that even while Dumbledore held affection for Harry, it didn't keep him from allowing him to step into harm's way. _You can't try to shelter me one minute and throw me to the wolves the next_, Harry thought, and grimaced at the thought. _Poor choice of words._

Whether he wanted it or not, the house of Black was his, and offered him a host of opportunities he otherwise would not have. Even in death, Sirius was providing Harry with knowledge that everyone else would undoubtedly try to hide from him.

"I'm okay," Harry said to reassure Dobby, after taking a steadying breath. The little house-elf was quivering with anxiety, his bulging eyes enormous. "Can you tell when someone's arrived?" Harry asked.

"Dobby knows when any Wizard comes or goes," he replied.

"Good. Let me know if anyone comes," Harry instructed. Dobby bobbed his head eagerly, and Harry turned his attention back to the room.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. Barriers of magic seemed to give way against his skin, making him feel as if he were stepping into a pool of water. Even his baggy shirt seemed to rustle with the currents of power, billowing gently against his knees as he stepped forward. _Whoever warded this didn't mess around_.

He knew it was dangerous, but he needed to track down memory charms like the ones Hermione mentioned. He wasn't retaining like he wanted to. Certainly, his studying helped. He'd even surprised Remus a few times with suggested alternative charms while they were cleaning up the last of Mrs. Black's portrait, something that gave him a small feeling of pride, but he felt like he was running out of time. He couldn't afford to stop now.

The air felt heavy and thick, and smelt of stagnant water with vague whiffs of decay.

Self-doubt plagued him as he neared the books. What if Dobby was wrong? What if the barriers held? Was an alarm going off somewhere? Scenario after scenario of things going wrong kept tumbling through Harry's head as he approached the stacks of tomes, ratcheting up his anxiety levels until finally, about three feet from the books, all the fear that had been building inside him seemed to burst, as if the emotions were a bubble that had been abruptly popped.

"Part of the wards?" Harry asked roughly, his mouth dry.

"Dobby doesn't think Harry Potter will have to endure that next time, though," Dobby said.

"Thank Merlin for that," Harry murmured and knelt down at the rows of text nearest to him.

_At last_. He began to peruse titles, hoping they'd been put away alphabetically, or in some other organized fashion. Edward Faustus' _Dark Arts for Black Hearts_. Pius Arsenikon's _Killing Them Softly, a Guide to Poisons for Personal Gain_. _A Zealot's Descent into Blood Magic_, by Nahemah Goetia… Harry blushed and quickly cast aside the last book. The pictures on the cover were particularly graphic. He sighed as he continued to skim through the titles. They weren't alphabetical, or organized by topic or title. It appeared they'd been stacked randomly, probably in a rush. Harry threw his head back and groaned in frustration, running his fingers roughly through his hair.

"Great. How am I supposed to find what I'm looking for in this mess?" he asked aloud.

Clearly Remus had not been involved with clearing out the library. Harry couldn't imagine the former professor allowing any books to be treated so cavalierly, even Dark Arts ones. _Of course, look at where they are as well. I hope they've got water repellant spells, or some of them might already be ruined_.

"Does Harry Potter know any book search spells?" Dobby asked softly from behind. Harry jumped in surprise. He hadn't realized the house-elf was still there. Harry nodded as he set the books back where he found them and slowly got up from his knees.

"I do," he said. Of the few books he _could_ read from the Black library, he'd actually found some incredibly helpful research spells.

"Harry Potter can cast spells in here," Dobby whispered and began violently pulling on his ears. Harry froze and knew his jaw was hanging open.

"What?" Harry asked dumbly.

"The house itself may not always shield Harry Potter's wand from the Ministry, but this room will," Dobby said, his eyes filling up with tears.

"What's wrong, Dobby? Were you not supposed to tell me this?" Harry asked, bewildered by the way the house-elf was behaving. Dobby shook his head.

"Dobby was never told not to, as Harry Potter was never thought to be able to get in," Dobby replied cryptically.

"Then what's wrong? What's so special about this room?" Harry asked.

"No spells can be monitored here. Not even Dark ones," Dobby explained and pointed to the furthest wall. Harry felt nauseous when he realized what he was looking at. What at first glance looked like rock texture were in fact five sets of rusted manacles that dangled from where they were secured near the ceiling.

"Were people tortured here?" Harry whispered in horror. Dobby nodded and began to cry in earnest.

"This place shouldn't be Harry Potter's home! Bad Wizards did bad things here! The House of Black does not deserve Harry Potter!" Dobby cried. Harry reluctantly stepped away from the books, keeping one eye on the door leading back to the pantry.

"Dobby, I need you to listen for a bit. Can you do that?" Harry asked as he squatted down next to the house-elf. Dobby sniffed and stopped crying.

"Yes, Harry Potter," Dobby whispered.

"You've tried to protect me for a long time now," Harry began, collecting his thoughts. What he said now could gain him a powerful ally in what he needed to do, but he had to be sure Dobby was loyal to him, and wouldn't run at the first signs of trouble.

"But there are things I'm going to have to do. Things that might hurt me, or not be good for me, but I'll still have to do them. Can I trust you not to tell my secrets?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Of course, Harry Potter! Dobby will always be Harry Potter's ally!" Dobby agreed. Harry nodded in satisfaction.

"Thank you, Dobby. You have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that," Harry replied, and returned his attention back to the books. He pulled out his wand from his waistband and closed his eyes for a moment, comforted by the heft of it.

"And there's no way for the Ministry to know I'm casting magical spells?" Harry couldn't help but ask one more time.

"Harry Potter must trust Dobby. No one will know Harry Potter is doing magic but Dobby, and Dobby promises to keep Harry Potter's secrets," Dobby said solemnly. Harry nodded and gave a soft smile to the house-elf, then raised his wand, pointing it at the books.

"Quaero Libri Memoria!" Harry cried, and watched, pleased, as books began to lift, suspended mid-air, one at a time. Pages in each book shuffled as if an invisible someone were thumbing through them at lightening speed, before returning them to their rightful place and moving on to the next one. Occasionally, in the midst of being searched, a book would glow faintly blue and, instead of returning to its pile, drift over to rest at Harry's feet. It took about ten minutes to get through them all, and when the spell was done, Harry had ten books to glance at.

Eagerly he sat on the ground and began to read book titles. _The Secrets that I Forgot_, by Lewis Tuttle. _Messing with Memories_, by Edward Historich. _Wiping Slates by Wiping Memories_, by Christmas Stedman…

"No no no, not Lockhart memory charms!" Harry groaned, but couldn't help but smile grimly as he did. Evidently there had been a wealth of information for Lockhart to perfect his specialty. Harry stood up, wand in hand, once more.

"Reverto Exemplar!" Harry said, and watched as the books returned to their original spots without disturbing their neighbors. He'd looked up a couple of words to use in his search charm, which now appeared to have been a good plan.

"Quaero Libri Recordatio!" Harry tried again, and waited for books to once again settle at his feet. This time there were only four. Quickly he picked them up and scanned their titles and couldn't help the pleased smile that lit up his face.

"Perfect! This is perfect!" he exclaimed, stunned that things were finally going his way, and quickly ran upstairs to the front entrance, where he'd last left some of his Hogwarts texts. He grabbed four fourth year books and held them close to his chest as he sprinted back to the hidden room in the pantry, acutely aware that someone could show up at any minute. He set each of the Black books next to his texts, and blessed the powers that be that he had been able to find so many useful spells from the few books he'd been allowed to read from Sirius' family library.

"Speculum Agnosco!" he said, waving his wand in a sharp arc, and watched as the Black tomes took on the appearance and characteristics of his Hogwarts books, while his Hogwarts texts began to look like the memory recall books he was 'borrowing'.

Now, to the casual eye, he'd be reviewing his school books. Just to be safe, though, he also sent his (now disguised) schoolbooks to fill up the gaps left by his search. If anyone had catalogued the order (however unlikely) or number (more likely) of the books in the room, they would not find any missing.

"How are we doing, Dobby?" Harry asked breathlessly. Finally, after all this time, things were coming together.

"Dobby and Harry Potter are still alone," Dobby replied. Harry held the books close and ignored the faint threads of fear that began to course through his veins.

No matter how good his intentions, he was still fully aware of the fact that he was intending to read, if not Dark Arts books themselves, then certainly books of questionable morality. He wasn't naïve enough to think that bad things couldn't happen because of what he was about to do. But in his gut – and his heart – this still felt like the proper course of action, and he steeled his resolve to what he must do.

Placing his hand on the stone, Harry watched as the door swung closed again. Even upon close examination, he could not see any seams in the wall that could have hinted at the hidden room. He took his books upstairs to Buckbeak's room, which he'd begun to spend more time in now that Mrs. Black's portrait had been dismantled.

The hippogriff trilled a soft greeting as Harry bowed, and began to huff gently, ruffling Harry's hair as he peeked over his shoulder and watched Harry tuck his books away in a tall bureau in the corner of the room. When Buckbeak ate, things got gory, and Harry chose not to have his books spattered with blood.

"Hello Buckbeak. I'll be up in a minute with dinner," Harry promised distractedly, and patted the hippogriff's beak as he began to leave the room. "Don't show them where I put them, okay?" he teased gently. Buckbeak nudged Harry's chest, and even though it was gentle, it still nearly threw Harry onto the bed. He recovered his balance and quickly slipped out of the room, heading downstairs for Buckbeak's daily allotment of rats.

No matter how confidant he was with his illusion spell, he still didn't trust the books not to show up as they really were to Moody, and chose not to risk fate by keeping them hidden. The front entrance had been, when Mrs. Black was there, the quietest place in the house to study, ironically enough. Now that he'd purged the house of her, though, the place Harry felt most comfortable was with Buckbeak. The hippogriff was the closest connection he had to Sirius, and he felt awful that he hadn't thought to ask after the hippogriff when he'd first arrived.

Most of the Order kept a decent distance from Buckbeak, which meant Harry would be able to study undisturbed, save for Remus once he returned. Harry prayed to anyone listening that his former professor really was all right, and that nothing bad had happened. He couldn't bear to think of losing him, too. He knew Remus would be horrified if he learned what Harry intended to do, and found that knowledge oddly comforting.

By the time Moody and Tonks finally returned three hours later, Harry's nerves were nearly shot. No matter that he knew he would be okay, that first hour in particular kept him jumping at shadows, fearful for an owl from the Ministry. Once that time passed, he'd begun to relax, but knew that he wouldn't feel completely at ease until the two Aurors returned from the Ministry without anything suspicious having been reported.

They were both tired and grumpy and refused to talk about the meeting at all upon arrival, other than to say it was a 'bloody waste of air', which appeared to be the mutual consensus. They all ate their dinners without much enthusiasm, other than for Tonks to occasionally snort in disgust at nothing in particular. After several quizzical looks from Harry, she finally blushed and kept silent.

He forced himself not to flinch when Dobby appeared to each of them, asking if they needed anything else after serving up the light dinner, and had to keep from smiling too innocently when Tonks finally turned to him with watchful eyes and asked how his day went.

"All in all, pretty quiet," Harry replied and lowered his eyes as he sipped at his tea.

"What did you do?" Moody asked abruptly.

"Just taking another crack at the Black library," Harry replied casually, and knew the portable sneakoscope the old Auror kept handy would read his statement as the truth.

"I saw some of the books Remus was letting you read. You'll have fun at school," Tonks replied with a fond smile, and the topic was left behind.

He didn't think anyone noticed the way Dobby's eyes slid to catch his, or the way the house-elf faintly nodded before disappearing, but he couldn't be sure. Either way, nothing was said. No owls were received or alarms raised.

That night, before settling in to read, Harry sent off two letters. One to Hermione, asking for any help she could give on how to find Wizarding legal books and where to order them, and the other to Ron. Harry was hoping Charlie Weasley might be up for another Operation Norbert, only this time with a hippogriff.

He'd wrestled long and hard with whether or not to contact his friends, but in the end decided they deserved to be respected for the choices they'd made, however foolish their decision to stand by him might be.

Besides, he had to admit he needed them. He loved them. They were all the family he had now, as odd as that sounded, and he could face his future as long as he knew his friends would be able to benefit from what he intended to do. His life might not be better in the end, but by Merlin theirs would be.

Tbc…

**Author's Note Supplemental**: _Quaero Libri Memoria _(roughly translated: search book for memory) - _Reverto Exemplar _(roughly translated: return to original) - _Quaero Libri Recordatio _(roughly translated: search book for recall) - _Speculum Agnosco _(roughly translated: mirror perception)


	8. In Memory Of

**Author's Disclaimer: **HP - Still not mine.

**Author's Note**: Thanks as always to Nicky15 for the awesome beta! For those of you wishing for some action, it starts now. ;-P

That being said, this is officially AU now – post-OotP and pre-HBP. Considering the trauma I had wrapping up NANA after OotP (while I didn't read it for quite a while, I'm such a ff-aholic that it didn't take too long for me to come across something without the proper spoiler warnings), I've elected to hold off on HBP until I'm done with this story (which my new goal sets towards the end of August). So, shhhh… Don't tell me what you know. ;-)

However, please do not let that interfere with reviews! Feedback is always _hugely _appreciated (and great motivation to help stay on track with my goals for finishing). :-D

**All That's Left Behind**

**Chapter 8 – In Memory Of**

_Harry,_

_If you weren't living in the house with that harpy portrait, and I knew it'd do more harm than good, I'd send you a Howler loud enough to put even my mum to shame. _

_Prat. Not owling me for most of the holidays. Not answering any of my owls, except for that bloody thank-you that told me next to nothing about you._

_Merlin. See what you've done? I'm channeling mum. _

_I talked to Charlie, and am disturbed to report that he knows of a hippogriff herd in need of a… erm… male, and that the blokes who run the preserve were pleased to hear about it from Charlie and thought Buckbeak would be a prime candidate. Can I just say that you owe me big time for having to sit through a forty-five minute lecture on the mating habits of hippogriffs! _

_On an entirely different matter, would you please tell me what mum's done? She's been all shifty-eyed for weeks now, and I know she's stopped pestering you because she's pestering me now, and when she gets like this I know she's really bollixed something up but good. _

_I've been campaigning for practically ever now to come over, and it looks like I finally get my wish. Mums aren't the only ones good at guilt. It looks like Hermione will beat me there by a few days, though. _

_I'll warn you now. She's still cheesed off about not hearing from you, so just resign yourself to some serious intense lecture time when she gets there. In fact, picture me there as well when she lays into you. Pillock. _

_I'm glad you owled. I'm climbing the walls here, and figure I can annoy you far more effectively than I can Ginny. She's too used to me. _

_Just to warn you, I (over)heard dad talking to mum about Dumbledore. I think he'll be coming by your place in a week or so. I know you've been jumpy around him lately, so thought you'd appreciate the early notice. _

_Well. Gotta go. Time for more lotions homework. Say hello to Remus for me when you see him, and see if you can convince Tonks to wear a tighter shirt. For morale._

_Ron_

Harry blinked at the letter for a couple more moments before simultaneously blushing and snorting. Trust Ron to have his priorities in order. Shaking his head, Harry put his hand to his face and continued to snicker as someone knocked on the door to Buckbeak's room.

Tonk's head poked inside, nodding to Buckbeak who was absently gnawing on a large bone left over from the stew Dobby had made the night before, then glancing at where Harry was settled in the middle of the bed, books and parchment scattered around him, and Ron's scroll in hand.

"I see you found the letters on the kitchen table," she observed dryly. Harry had to work hard not to blush again. _Please tell me these letters aren't screened before they get to me_.

"Thanks," Harry murmured.

"Normally we just check authenticity, to validate it's from who it says it's from, and if the text or parchment contains any hidden charms or portkeys," Tonks abruptly announced. _Uh oh._

"We don't read your mail, Harry. I wasn't sure if anyone told you. Now that you're finally writing your friends, I thought you'd want to know that," Tonk continued, clearly nervous. Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks. _Yep. She read it._

"That being said, while I was checking who it was from, I couldn't help but notice my name, and well… I hadn't had coffee yet, and have a weak sense of self-restraint at the best of times…"

"No harm done," Harry nearly squeaked, mortified, and hoping she'd drop the topic.

"Well… Okay, then," Tonks said, and Harry realized when he finally dared raise his eyes to meet hers, that she was wearing a dressing gown, which was odd, as she normally got dressed immediately after breakfast, and instead of her usual slippers, he could see trainers peeking from underneath . She looked torn between laughing and being sincerely contrite.

"I didn't mean to invade your privacy."

Harry raised a hand and shook his head. "It's all right, Tonks. I'd have looked too, if I'd seen my name," he replied honestly.

"Okay. I just wanted you to know," Tonks said, but still hovered in the doorway. Harry dared look her in the eye again, and couldn't miss the devious twinkle.

"So, do you think the lad will appreciate this?" she asked, and suddenly whipped open her robe, revealing a hot pink (tight) t-shirt with 'Cheeky' written brazenly across the front, strategically placed, in fluorescent colors that strobed and pulsed in such a way that it was nearly a full minute before Harry could tear his eyes away.

Holding a hand out in front of him to block the shirt from view, Harry shook his head with a smile. "I suspect he will," he replied, refusing to look again, and felt mirth bubble up in his throat.

"I don't suppose you have a Wizarding camera I could borrow for when he does?" Harry asked after a pause.

"That's absolutely brill, Harry! I'll bring one tonight!" Tonks replied with practically fiendish delight. Harry snorted.

"Tonks, quit flashing the boy. Harry, we're off for an hour or so. We've got the wards keyed to notify us the instant anyone unauthorized breaches the building. If you need anything, firecall the Headmaster's office, alright?" Kingsley Shacklebolt rumbled as he stepped behind Tonks and pulled her away from the doorway and waited for Harry's response.

"Okay," Harry murmured, knowing the place would have to be falling down around his ears before he ever asked for Dumbledore's help.

Still in good spirits and unaware of the sharp turn Harry's emotions had taken, Tonks gave him a wink and a wave before disappearing. Kingsley stood in the doorway for a moment, his dark brown eyes resting on Harry thoughtfully. It was clear he had picked up on Harry's dark thoughts, but chose not to say anything about it.

"We won't be long," Kingsley said after a moment. Harry smiled weakly.

"I'm not going anywhere," he tried to joke. Kinglsley nodded, then closed the door behind him. Harry could still hear them as they headed downstairs. .

"I suppose you're wearing that to the meeting?" Kingsley asked, his voice carrying a distinct note of amusement.

"I've been working undercover. That's what they get for calling all these unnecessary meetings on such short notice," Tonks replied.

Harry waited until he heard the familiar whooshing sound of the Floo being activated, then forced himself to stay still for a few minutes more, just in case Tonks forgot something.

Once he was sure they weren't coming back, Harry was up on his feet in an instant, ready for another trip to the hidden room behind the pantry. He'd narrowed his list of possible candidate spells down to three, and wanted to make absolutely sure there were no other reference books he could look through before making a decision.

"Dobby?" Harry called as he slumped down against the uneven wall in the hidden room. His search had proven fruitless, as he'd both feared and suspected it would.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby appeared, wearing a tea cozy decorated with brightly colored flowers on it, which stood in stark contrast to the dreary, oppressive atmosphere in the room. Harry had to force himself to ask the question.

"Is this room soundproof?" Dobby's eyes got impossibly large.

"Yes, Harry Potter. When the door is sealed, nothing can be heard," Dobby whispered, the tips of his ears quivering.

"After…" Harry began, then had to clear his throat. Was he really going to go through with this? Was this really his only choice? "After everyone goes to bed tonight, I'll need you to shut the door behind me," Harry said. Dobby appeared frozen.

"Is there something more Dobby can do for Harry Potter? Dobby doesn't like leaving Harry Potter locked in this place," Dobby asked. They were both speaking softly, as if afraid of being overheard.

"Just remember your promise," Harry said intently. Dobby's head bobbed rapidly. "After a few hours, I'll probably need help back to my bedroom as well."

"Of course, Harry Potter," Dobby said, and Harry realized he looked frightened.

"I'll be fine," Harry said, although in truth he had no idea if he would be or not. In fact, he couldn't even promise to make it through what he intended to do completely sane. But he was out of options, and out of time, and the spell he'd decided on seemed to be the least dark of all the ones he'd looked at.

"Dobby thinks that Harry Potter needs a good lunch, then," Dobby said, and approached him hesitantly, as if approaching a wild animal for the first time. Harry frowned, but stayed still, as Dobby reached out and gently took Harry's hand in his, pulling him away from the room.

His fingers were tiny in Harry's hand, yet surprisingly strong, he noted as he followed the house-elf back into the kitchen. Never before had Dobby initiated contact in such a way, and Harry instantly understood their relationship had irrevocably changed.

"Okay, Dobby," Harry agreed, all at once overwhelmed at the thought that, if he hadn't thought of a way to free him, Dobby might not be alive today. "Thanks," he said, and squeezed Dobby's fingers tenderly, feeling oddly responsible.

"Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter," Dobby said, and waved his free hand at the hidden door, which quietly shut behind him. It struck Harry that Dobby could have just shown him the room, if he had access to it, rather than having to also explain about his now being master of the house of Black, and realized just how much the house-elf revealed to him. It took his breath away to comprehend how much Dobby routinely chose to risk helping him.

Dobby settled Harry at the kitchen table, which seemed empty and lifeless without anyone else there. He missed Remus, and felt oddly cut off from his former professor. Even though his former professor had sent brief notes reassuring him that he was doing better, much of Harry's former insecurity seemed to come back a thousand-fold in his absence.

He'd seen the physical evidence of the trauma Remus was going through after losing Sirius, and knew he ultimately was the cause. Certainly, others could share the burden as well, but it had been _his_ mistakes and _his_ lack of judgment that were ultimately to blame. He could only hope that destroying Mrs. Black's portrait had helped ease the pain, at least a little bit.

The lightly toasted roast beef sandwich and crisps sat heavily in Harry's stomach as he silently re-evaluated whether it was the right course of action to try the _vis consummo recordatio_ spell. Absently, he gnawed on a cuticle as he thumbed through his notes. The ginger fizz did nothing to ease the increasing nausea he felt.

_This is what I know_, Harry wrote on a blank sheet of paper, trying to sort his thoughts. _I'm the only one who can kill Voldemort. I have a power that he knows not. **What is it!**_ Harry scribbled, pressing heavily against the parchment and breaking the tip of his quill in the process. Annoyed at himself, Harry hadn't even completely stood up to get a new one before realizing one was already sitting next to his pot of ink.

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said, and sat down, dutifully staring at his list again.

_The headmaster's only obsessed with Occulmency, which I'm pants at. I'm good at defense against the Dark Arts, but still don't stand much of a chance at winning many duels with Death Eaters. _

_Being raised by Muggles means there's a lot Ron and kids like him automatically know that I've still got to learn. I already understand that knowledge, both of spells and how to use them, will be the best thing I can do to help prepare for next time. I also understand that I can't rely on Dumbledore and the rest of the Order to give me the tools I need to win. They have no idea what will beat Tom either, which means I'm on my own. _

_Of course, there is plenty they **can** teach, and it's time I quit being a nit and start asking them for help. But as for this… I don't see any other way to even begin to prepare. Sixth year at Hogwarts, while undoubtedly eventful, isn't going to give me what I need unless I suddenly develop a photographic memory and can spend all hours in the library, memorizing spells and then trying them out in the Room of Requirement. _

So… The spell. It's classified as Dark because to use it costs energy and is irreversible. It takes years off a Wizard's life because it forces the candle, so to speak, to burn at both ends. But before I came to Hogwarts, I only ever expected to live seventy-five or so.

He'd overheard Uncle Vernon protesting loudly when he'd heard the statistics on the wireless a few years ago. Evidently women lived quite a bit longer, and Aunt Petunia had had a hard time not being smug about itHarry had latched onto that number (_three quarters of a century_, his mind automatically supplied), using it as a way to remind himself that the Dursleys would only be temporary. He'd have spent less than a fifth of his life living with them, and that wouldn't be so bad, would it? Then he'd be free. Harry had to close his eyes to stop the rest of that thought from forming. _But I'll never be free, will I? _

_Even though Wizards are supposed to have this long life, do I really think I'll even live long enough to graduate Hogwarts? _Here, Harry paused as his heart sped up and his throat clenched in unacknowledged grief. Here was the truth of it. Did he really expect to live? And if he did, would shortening his lifespan to what he'd always expected it to be before coming to Hogwarts be too heavy a price? Was there a chance he might survive Voldemort? In his gut, Harry knew odds were against it. _No, I suppose not. I swore to do whatever was in my power to defeat Tom, and that's something I intend to do_.

_Once done, only death ends the spell. This is permanent. Am I absolutely sure? _Again, Harry looked down at the words and frowned. Was he sure? Did he know for certain that this was the right thing to do? Did he feel like he had a choice?

_That's the irony, isn't it? Dumbledore would frown upon me doing something like this, yet if he knew I intended it, would he really stop me?_

Harry took a deep breath to regroup. He'd loved the headmaster. He'd felt safe - before. He'd thought Dumbledore cared. He'd admired the headmaster's willingness to believe in him no matter how things might appear otherwise. He'd given Harry a home when he'd had none, but the conditions … He should have known better than to believe anyone could love him without a reason or purpose. If he even truly did. Sure, Harry knew the headmaster cared in his own way… But love?

_Who knows, maybe he made sure the books remained here knowing I'd find them_, Harry wrote cynically.

_It takes forty-eight hours for most of the superficial traces of the spell to fade._ After that, unless someone were specifically looking for it, they wouldn't be able to tell what Harry had done. _Am I sure I can bluff through it long enough to last?_ Harry wrote, absently nibbling on the tip of his quill. The question he refused to write down was, "_Am I sure I can keep from going mad?_"

Seventy percent of wizards documented who had attempted the spell never learned how to properly manage their newfound memory capacity. Without finding a way to prioritize memories, they were quickly overwhelmed by them, forced to forever dull their senses lest they be overwhelmed.

_Am I really that sure I'll be able to do this? _Harry wrote, finally acknowledging his deepest source of anxiety. He didn't fear a shortened lifespan. That was practically a given anymore, but he **was** terrified of losing his mind; of not being strong enough to get a hold of his new abilities. He could certainly understand the need to be able to shuffle everyday memories to the back in favor of more important things. After all, how important was it to remember every time Snape insulted him?

_There are people who've had photographic memories all their lives. I can do this. I just need to not panic and be patient while my brain figures it out. I have to do this. I've only got two years at Hogwarts left and then what? Then I'm on my own completely, and I don't stand a chance then. I've got no chance at being an Auror, and wouldn't want to anyway. What else can I do?_

_I'm almost out of time. Tonks is hinting that Remus should be back in a couple of days. Hermione comes on Friday. I **must** have passed the forty-eight hour time limit by the time Dumbledore comes. Tonight's it._

Harry found his eyes automatically staring at the now darkened pantry, envisioning the room beyond it. _Am I mad for doing this?_ Harry wrote after a pause. In truth, he was terrified. He didn't want to die, and he just wanted to be like everyone else. He'd loved Sirius, and had dared to want to share a life with him. To dream of a home where he'd be loved back.

_I miss you, Sirius. I'd give anything to have you back. I can't fix what's happened, but I can sure make certain it doesn't happen again. No one else dies for me. Not if I can help it. I'm done being a victim of my own ignorance. _

_If the path is already set, who's to say this isn't exactly what must happen next? _Harry wrote, feeling a bit macabre as he grinned darkly.

Harry had no idea how nervous he'd been about the possibility of casting the spell while Moody was in the house until he realized Moody was on assignment until Friday. His relief had nearly threatened to leave him weak-kneed. Kingsley and Tonks had come back that evening, whispering in earnest tones that ceased the moment Harry walked into the room.

"Sorry, Harry. Nothing personal. Ministry secrecy and all that codswallop," Tonks had apologized, looking genuinely contrite. He had just shrugged in reply. Who was he to begrudge secrets?

Harry waited an extra hour after both Aurors had gone to bed before daring to venture out into the hallway. He was still in Dudley's too-large flannel pajamas, and held his slippers in hand (being far more stealthy barefooted) until he'd crept downstairs.

He'd sat in the unlit kitchen for nearly another half an hour, just in case there were any charms to alert the Aurors that he was out of bed, but no one came. He'd gulped two glasses of water already, but still felt like his mouth was dry.

He was terrified, but resolute. After placing the empty glass in the sink, Harry took a deep breath and approached the 'torture room', as his mind had taken to calling it. Dobby had already lit the torches inside, and had placed a mound of blankets and pillows in the corner furthest from the door. As Harry stepped inside, he sensed the faintest 'pop' of magic and turned to find the house-elf staring at him from the doorway.

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said, determined not to cry at the thoughtful gesture. His heart beat loudly in his chest and he was having a hard time taking deep breaths.

"Dobby will be here when Harry Potter is done. Dobby will make sure Harry Potter is not alone," the house-elf said in a low voice, hardly squeaky at all. They stared at each other for long moments before Dobby prompted, "It's not too late to change Harry Potter's mind…"

Harry closed his eyes and tried to smile reassuringly. "I know. Thank you," Harry said, and was oddly comforted that Dobby would be there for him when it was all over. But it was too late. For good or ill, he'd committed himself to this course of action, and he'd see it through, no matter how much it terrified him.

"It's okay. Go ahead and close the door," Harry had to force himself to say. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from running for the door as it closed, and cringed at the soft hiss of air that escaped as it sealed into place.

_There's nothing for it. This is the beginning. This is the first real act to take control of the prophecy, and stop being a pawn to it. _

Harry cast the charm he knew he'd need most in place first. It was meant to insure that, no matter how badly the Dark memory spell affected him physically, for the next forty-eight hours he'd look as he did now. The charm dissolved in increments automatically on its own, which was part of the reason why he'd chosen it. He had no idea how long he'd be down after this, and wanted to prepare for any possibility.

The distance between the doorway and the bundle of blankets Dobby had set out for him seemed impossibly far, and Harry felt like someone condemned as he settled on them. Briefly, his brain registered the cushioning charm underneath gratefully before he pulled out his wand and pointed it at his temple.

He tried to force away the automatic comparison his mind made to the similarity of pointing his wand at his head to someone taking a gun and putting it under their chin.

_This is not suicide. I can do this. I have no choice. I love you Sirius. I won't fail you again. Just ride it out. I won't go mad. I'll be okay. I don't want to die. I can do this. I'm sorry. _

"_Vis Consummo Recordatio_!" Harry cried before his fear could run away from him, and the wave of magic that slammed into his mind left no more room for thoughts of any sort as screams were ripped from his lips and his wand clattered across the stone floor from hands now clawing at blankets.

Everything ceased to be except for the burning of his mind, and the pulse of magic as it seared behind closed eyelids and forced new pathways open where they were never meant to be.

**Author's Note Supplemental**: _Vis_: (sing.) violence; a large number, quantity, a force; nature force, power, strength, might, influence. _Consummo_: to add together, sum up, make perfect, complete. _Recordatio_: recollection, memory, recall.


	9. Fake It Until You Make It

**Author's Disclaimer: **HP – Still not mine.

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much, Nicky15, for the fast beta! I have to admit, I was getting a little worried! ;-)

This story is AU (post-OotP and pre-HBP). I'm still non-HBP-compliant myself, so remember not to let anything slip, okay? Reviews are obsessively read, so please feel free to leave feedback! ;-)

As for goals and timelines – I'm done with projecting. RL is eeeevil, and I suspect the Fates are cackling away each time I try to put a deadline down on the page. New goals? A chapter a week. That's possible. Not a guarantee, but certainly a feasible ambition. And now, on with the show! _(author exits stage right)_

**All That's Left Behind**

**Chapter 9 – Fake It Until You Make It**

He was a fool. He'd been so wrong. It hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt before. The Cruciatus curse was nothing compared to this. Even being possessed by Voldemort couldn't compare. His head felt like it was exploding, being crushed against his skull and expanding until he could feel things giving way inside.

Memory, he discovered too late, wasn't just one sense. It covered everything. The smell of Aunt Petunia's bacon when she'd burn it - the feeling of spider legs skittering across his cheekbone when he slept in the cupboard. The jolt of Uncle Vernon's sharp cuff to the head and the brief disorientation when he'd been just a little too slow. The confused bewilderment as Sirius disappeared from view, wand in hand, before he'd realized he wouldn't reappear. The soft thud as Cedric fell, completely slack, to the ground, causing the faintest puff of dust to stir around his body before settling again…

On and on, everything he'd ever experienced was being re-catalogued and filed away; his mind stripped of all its previous tools and realigned to conform to the pathways being forged by the spell he'd cast on himself.

He could feel as it drew in its power from his very essence, and burned behind his eyes. He knew he was beyond shrieking. He tried to claw at his forehead, his eyes, his mind, but tiny hands restrained him. His back arched impossibly and he felt muscles tear and tendons pop as he struggled against himself, to somehow flee the pain that now seemed as much a part of him as his magic.

He didn't want to remember his past. Nothing he'd read said that the spell would be retroactive. His life had been hard enough the first time, and he cried out in despair at the folly of his own foolhardy plan. What had he been thinking? Everything he'd ever experienced pulsed within his mind in time to his heartbeat. He could hear it: an inevitable explosion of memories relived and re-examined to fit the new paths within, still tender and raw.

He hated to see them: The years of idiocy that kept him hoping that _this_ time, somehow, he'd find a way to make the Dursleys like him: The naiveté of allowing himself to believe that Sirius was his and his alone – that he had a family now: The ridiculous pride at having walked away from confrontations with Voldemort those first few years at Hogwarts and thinking, _I think I can do this if I must_. If he could go back in time, there were so many things he wanted to change that he didn't even know where to start.

He'd made so many mistakes. There was too much to fix. Too much he'd do differently. He had no concept of time passing as he writhed under the weight of his own magic. There was no possibility of unconsciousness. There was no escape, no way to ease this passage. He wished for death. Part of him wished for madness.

Maybe he already was mad, and just hadn't realized it. He wanted so badly to just let go. He could see the barrier now: a thin veil between consciousness and the unknown. It was a wall of darkness, and the closer he looked, the more movement he could see. There was a lot going on behind the curtains – the darkness now practically seethed with activity.

_What's in there,_ he wondered as he drifted perilously closer. Was it his fears? He instinctively knew that in those shadows resided the part of the mind that remained untapped and untouched, except in dreams and intuition. Its darkness called to him, promising muffled protection from his memories, and he longed to just stop trying to ride the waves of pain and slip away, yet something kept him anchored…

The briefest touch – the faintest sense of _witness_. Someone else felt his pain, and it frightened them. They tried to push at first, but quickly shrank away, and then Harry did laugh, a mad frantic pant amidst the screams. _Thought better of that, did you!_ He impulsively tried to send after the fading link. _He_ had felt Harry's spell and wanted to know what was happening, but hadn't been able to handle it.

_I did this for you!_ Harry seized onto that thought as years came back in no particular order. Memories that used to gradually float to the surface, triggered by a word or sense which then cascaded into his mind gently now came with lightening speed, utterly visceral and totally encompassing.

He was entirely alone now. The presence that haunted his dreams had left him completely, unable or unwilling to share his distress, and his screams also held a note of triumph. He'd felt a sense of vindication at knowing he was willing to die to win, and that Voldemort wasn't. It now appeared he was also willing to suffer more as well.

His crazed laughter turned to sobs as his life bore witness to his capacity to endure. He'd been practically born to it. Not in self-pity, though. He could see the parts he played in his own pain, and knew he'd earned it. He cried for the hope he no longer had, that had died along with Sirius.

He cried for the life they could have shared. He'd even imagined Remus there as well – the three of them; fractured and incomplete separately – they could have healed each other. He'd never forgotten the day Professor Lupin was packing up to leave at the end of his third year. Remus had been so quiet and dignified in what he knew would inevitably be rejection. Harry _understood_ that. Remus cared for Sirius. He instinctively knew Remus needed a home as much as he and Sirius did, and remembered thinking that it might have worked.

It was the greatest gift life at Hogwarts had given Harry. Away from the Dursleys, who used to browbeat his teachers and neighbors into not giving him a chance, and away from Dudley, who used to pummel anyone who even considered the possibility of Harry being their friend – he'd found that family didn't need to consist of blood. In fact, blood was often the weakest part of it.

_Blood_. It was all about the blood, wasn't it? He groaned and sobbed as he was forced to re-examine his life and the things he'd learned up until now. The cryptic statements Dumbledore had always been so fond of making now made too much sense, and he wished he didn't see the truth in the Headmaster's eyes.

Eyes that morphed into the eyes of Sirius, peering from the shrubs just moments before he'd summoned the Knight Bus. What if Harry had just gone with his godfather then? What if he hadn't summoned the bus? What would his life have been like? He knew it was foolishness, that it would never have worked, but he wished he'd flown away with Sirius that night on Buckbeak's back. Would Sirius have been okay? Away from Grimmauld Place, would his godfather's sanity have slipped like it had? _Would you have seen me for me?_

_I want you to be proud of me, Sirius. I'm so ashamed_… Harry's throat was raw, and still he couldn't stop calling out. Not for someone to save him – that would never happen – but for forgiveness. _I'm so sorry!_ But no one would be coming. He'd insured that.

Hands pressed his shoulders against the cushioned floor, trying to keep him still. He couldn't raise his arms, and a voice was softly speaking as the waves of searing magic slowly eased, leaving only violent flashes of memory to remain.

"Dobby's here. Breathe, Harry Potter. It's almost over. Don't fight it, Harry Potter. Relax. Dobby won't let go…" the squeaky house-elf's voice pierced his pain, and Harry did as instructed, allowing the memories to try resorting themselves. He stopped trying to fight the images and sensations, instead letting them roll over him. He drifted, floating, immersed in the past. But far off, he could now sense the present too. It was in Dobby's clawed fingertips, strong yet tender and in his odd voice; in the throbbing of Harry's body trying to ascertain what he'd done to it and which messages his nerves should send first.

He was utterly submerged in the past, in the minutia of details, but now that he'd stopped fighting it, he realized that if he concentrated, he could almost dim certain parts of the memories so that they weren't quite so _present… Thank Merlin!_ Harry thought, and realized that as unlikely as it had seemed before, he might just survive this spell relatively intact.

He'd learned too late that another reason the spell he'd cast on himself could be considered dark was because there were certain things the human mind _tried_ to forget, as a protective mechanism. Thankfully, he'd spent too much of his life as a realist. He didn't try to soften what the Dursleys did – they were who they were – so reliving it wasn't a shock. However, Cedric's death was. He'd forgotten how insanely quickly Cedric's life had been ended, how casual Voldemort and Pettigrew had both been. He'd forgotten how long he'd stood, waiting for Sirius to reappear. He'd forgotten just how big that Basilisk had been, and how on earth had he survived it!

With awareness came the capacity to direct thought, and Harry began working in earnest to dull the edges of the more painful memories. It was ironic that in his endeavor to find more clarity in recall, he was now forced to consciously suppress things. _I think you'd be proud of this, Sirius. This was certainly reckless and foolhardy, which certainly could qualify as something the Marauders would try to do_.

"That's it. Harry Potter is fine, but must rest now. Dobby is watching over his friend. Sleep, Harry Potter. Dobby will give as much time as Dobby can," Harry barely heard the house-elf murmur, and finally did let go of his last, tenuous grasp on consciousness.

The spell had run its course, and while he was certainly far from adjusted, he'd survived the worst of it. Although, considering how he felt, he had no idea how he'd be able to hide what he'd done for two days. _Quit projecting_, he thought, and fell into a restless slumber. Tomorrow wasn't there yet, and he'd had a loooong day.

The first thing Harry noticed when he first became aware was that he was in his bed. His fingers were all curled up in the sheets. He frowned and sighed, realizing that even opening his eyes had suddenly become a major effort.

"Harry Potter is waking up?" Dobby whispered right beside his left ear, effectively scaring Harry enough that both eyes were instantly open. Dobby was peering intently at Harry's face, and he realized the house-elf didn't have the best breath.

"D…Dobby," Harry said after having to clear his throat, and couldn't help but try to smile a little. He sounded like he had laryngitis.

"Harry Potter is doing better?" Dobby asked, his enormous eyes looking bizarre so up-close. They were the only thing Harry could clearly see without his glasses, and where were his glasses, anyway?

"Yeah," Harry rasped and tried to sit up, which didn't turn out to be a possibility. At least for the near future. His arms quivered too much, and he had no idea what he'd done to his forearms and biceps but they spasmed each time he tried to use them.

"Dobby has some potions Dobby stole from Hogwarts for Harry Potter to take. Then Harry Potter will be more comfortable," Dobby said solemnly, and without further ado put his hands under Harry's armpits and lifted him effortlessly until he was sitting up in bed.

"Wow," Harry whispered. "That was entirely too easy," he whispered, then proceeded to cough dryly. Dobby frowned in disapproval.

"That's because Harry Potter isn't eating enough of Dobby's cooking," the house-elf scolded, then reached over to Harry's nightstand for several vials. _Ah hah!_ There were his glasses! Weakly reaching over, Harry slipped them in place and looked around. His whole body was quivering with exhausting, and his toes kept trying to curl up and cramp. He was having a hard time staying awake, but too many things still needed to get sorted out. He had a vague plan for what happened after the spell, and recognized that he'd put off getting too specific until he _had_ survived it.

His nightstand looked like a magical pharmacy, Harry realized, and nervously glanced at the vial Dobby was currently holding in front of his face. Potions bottles of all sizes and shapes filled most of the surface, along with a pitcher of water. Oh, that looked good. Dobby caught him eyeing the water and shook his head.

"Dobby will pour Harry Potter some water only after Harry Potter takes his potions," he said.

"What potions are they?" Harry asked automatically, feeling bad for not just blindly drinking them. He didn't want to hurt Dobby's feelings, after all, but he didn't recognize the coloring of half of what was there.

"Dobby worked in the Hospital Wing long enough to learn about good basic healing potions for wizards," the house-elf said matter-of-factly.

"Did you steal them from the Hospital Wing then?" Harry whispered curiously.

"Oh no! Dobby wouldn't do something that might cause the other house-elves to get in trouble," he said wide eyed, and suddenly Harry had a bad feeling.

"Then where did you get the potions?" Harry asked.

"From the same place Dobby got the gillyweed for Harry Potter: the Potions Master's stores."

"Wouldn't that cause the house-elves even more trouble?" Harry asked, stunned and forcing himself not to abruptly giggle manically. He was still sane, right?

"The Professor doesn't let the house-elves in, so he won't think we took them," Dobby said. _He'll probably blame it on me anyway_, Harry thought and snorted, then took the vial from Dobby.

He raised the thin glass in the faintest gesture of salute then tossed it back. He'd come this far with Dobby. The potions would be fine. As much as he loathed the Potions Master, the man still had professional pride. He swallowed then frowned, wiggling his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"How does Harry Potter feel now?" Dobby asked, and Harry realized that his muscles no longer quivered quite so badly. That's not what had caught his attention, though.

"Why am I not surprised?" Harry said in a slightly stronger voice, and felt his face contort in anger. Dobby jumped back and began to apologize before Harry realized what he'd done.

"Oh no! Dobby, no! It has nothing to do with you! I'm sorry! I'm not angry with you! It's just that this potion – I've had it in the Hospital Wing, and I can promise you it didn't taste nearly as good there as it does right now."

Dobby's ears immediately perked up. "So Dobby didn't do anything wrong?" he asked hesitantly. Harry reached out his hand, and Dobby tentatively put his small hand in Harry's.

"Not at all, my friend. Our resident Potions Master can evidently do a lot more to make healing potions taste better for himself than he does for his students," Harry said with distaste. Could the man get any pettier?

Harry proceeded to down vial after vial. It wasn't nearly the hardship it could have been, and he found it darkly amusing that he'd inadvertently be causing the professor distress when he realized his stores had been raided… again.

After his initial rage, Harry did have to concede to the possibility that perhaps what Dobby had given him could be more of an experimental potion, because not all of them were flavored. Some of the potions he couldn't visually identify did turn out to be ones he was familiar with, once he could feel their effects.

It made what Dobby said not quite sit right with Harry. Were some of these potions already being used in the Hospital Wing and he didn't know about it? Otherwise, how would Dobby know which ones were which? Unless they were placed somewhere labeled, because there were no labels on the bottles themselves, and could Dobby even read…?

It was odd how the more Harry thought, the more confused he became, so he finally had to let his fears go and come back to the fact that he trusted Dobby, and had already placed his life in his hands and survived, so what was he worried about?

He hurt, both inside and out, and while the memories were not quite so insistent, when they appeared, they still took all his attention, and he knew that could never do. If he was going to be able to focus and apply his newfound gift of recall, he'd have to figure out how to handle it quickly.

He didn't mean to, but managed to drift off, only coming awake at the soft tap at his door. Thankfully, after nearly a dozen potions, he had enough strength to sit up now, and distractedly ran his fingers through his hair as Tonks came in his room, peering at him intently.

Her hair was bright red today, and idly Harry wondered if she had to spell it to stick up the way it did, or if it was natural like his. She was wearing Muggle jeans, a baggy t-shirt (nothing on it, thank Merlin) and her fuzzy slippers.

"Dobby tells us you had a late night last night," she said and proceeded to sit next to his bed. The image of her smiling face the first time he met her suddenly overwhelmed everything else, and Harry had to keep his face slack to keep his surprise from registering.

_Oooh__, he looks just like I thought he would. Wotcher, Harry!_

It took a few seconds to suppress the memory of all of those faces staring up at him, people he'd never met before as he'd prepared to leave the Dursleys, and to drag his mind back to the present.

"Harry?" Tonks was asking, her kind, heart-shaped face easily displaying her thoughts in her expressions. Was she good at what she did? She seemed so guileless to him. He forced his lips into a smile.

"Sorry. What time is it? I can't believe I was still asleep," Harry hedged.

"It's nearly two o'clock. Aren't you hungry?" she asked. Harry shook his head, then second-guessed himself.

"Maybe. Let me wake up first. Did you already eat?" he asked. Tonks nodded, then frowned and put her hand against his forehead. "What?" he asked.

"I'm just checking. What teenage boy isn't always hungry?" she asked.

"I'll get something from Dobby. I'm feeling okay – just tired," Harry said.

"Was it….? Dreams?" she asked, and he felt a little better about the fact that at least she looked a little apologetic for having to ask.

"Not that kind. Just your garden variety," Harry replied and smiled again. Considering how he felt, he knew his illusion spell still had to be in full-effect. Otherwise, they wouldn't even be discussing it. Also, it appeared that she was taking the raspiness in his voice for grogginess, because he knew he didn't sound right but she didn't seem to notice.

"I'm sorry to interrogate you about your dreams," she said, and reached out to ruffle his hair affectionately. It shocked him when he had to discretely brace himself. She'd nearly toppled him, although thankfully didn't seem to see it.

"S'okay," Harry replied and shrugged. "Everyone else does."

Tonks stood up and eyed him suspiciously. "Just yell if you need anything, okay?" she asked. Harry nodded and weakly waved his hand at the door.

"I will. Now shoo," he said, and felt brazen enough to wink at her. He couldn't believe he was going to get away with it!

"I expect to see you at dinner then," she said. Harry suppressed the initial panic and theatrically rolled his eyes. He refused to think beyond the moment. He'd figure out this evening after he had a few more hours rest. He just needed to regroup.

"Please. Even if I had Ron's appetite, I wouldn't be hungry for dinner in just a few hours," he said jokingly, then reconsidered his words. Tonks raised an eyebrow. "Right. Never mind. Bad example," he said, and Tonks smiled indulgently at him as she shut the door behind her.

"Dinner's at seven!" she called from the hallway, her voice now muffled, and Harry let himself fall on his side with a huge sigh. How was he going to be able to keep up the ruse? He could barely sit up, let alone try to walk.

Dobby solved the question of how he'd get to the kitchen for him by apparating him there directly. House-elf magic, he's discovered, while potent, is also a bit more… crude. Blunt. The disorientation of being apparated by a wizard had nothing on house-elves. It felt as if he'd been compressed and decompressed in the span of several seconds.

It made sense, though, when he thought about it. All he had to do was look at the lives house-elves led. Merlin knows Dobby must have had an incredible tolerance for pain, considering his penchant for ironing his hands.

The house-elf was distraught but did finally relent when Harry insisted on trying to dress himself. He couldn't seem to find the words to try to explain why it was so important to him. It wasn't all about modesty, although that played a part. Mostly, he realized he was having a hard time staying focused on _now_. His mind had a tendency to drift, and he knew he needed to get it together fast before people started to see it.

So he spent nearly half an hour getting ready, and realized it wasn't easy trying to tie his shoe laces when the first teacher to ever try to teach him how to tie a bow's voice would suddenly be the only thing he could concentrate on. The memory as such a complete surprise that it made his nose tickle, and he most certainly _wasn't _tearing up. He'd forgotten how kind his kindergarten teacher had been.

Dobby had to put sticking charms in place to keep him from falling out of his seat. He wasn't really hungry, but Dobby's death-glare was a sight to behold, and he put a decent dent in his pot pie before Kingsley and Tonks even arrived. He had no idea Dobby was so adept at guilt.

A book had been set strategically at his side to explain why he'd remain in the kitchen after everyone else was done with the meal. He felt kind of bad about claiming to have fed Buckbeak when really it was Dobby who'd done it, but it presented the illusion that Harry was moving around and going places, so he did as Dobby suggested.

He'd always known Dobby was fearful of Buckbeak, but it wasn't until he saw the two of them interact that he understood why. Before coming to dinner, Dobby had apparated him up to Buckbeak's room to help coach the fearful house-elf through the proper etiquette of how to approach a hippogriff, but it ended up being more of a lesson in esteem and confidence than in how to feed magical beasts.

When Hagrid had explained why bowing was necessary and Harry had done so that first time, he'd done it with a sense of awe and fear. When Buckbeak had bowed back, it had felt like he'd been acknowledged by an equal. Harry had showed respect and the hippogriff had responded in kind. Approaching a wild hippogriff was less about being a master or keeper, and more about being a companion.

It took a lot of verbal coaching to explain the difference between groveling and bowing, and by the end of it, Harry suspected that probably no other house-elf besides Dobby would be able to feed hippogriffs simply because of their own lack of independence. The poor house-elf had nearly come out of his skin when Buckbeak had bowed back, and it was only Harry's voice that kept Dobby from fleeing the room.

Neither Kingsley nor Tonks seemed to be sure what to make of his deciding to camp out in the kitchen for a while to study, but didn't pursue it. They kept shooting curious looks his way, but didn't ask. By the end of dinner, Harry was exhausted. He could barely keep his eyes open. Luck seemed to be on his side though, because instead of using Harry's continued presence in the kitchen as an opportunity for conversation, they left shortly after dessert to go upstairs.

That, unfortunately, turned out to be a glitch in his and Dobby's plan. The only time Harry could theoretically be apparated back to his room was when both Tonks and Kingsley had either returned to their rooms, or were in a part of the house where they couldn't prove whether or not he'd gone upstairs on his own steam.

The two Aurors didn't do so until nearly three hours later. By then, he'd fallen asleep and jolted awake often enough to practically give himself whiplash, and had drooled on his book as well. His temples throbbed, his eyes felt goggly. All in all he felt like a puppet, dangling limply from where the sticking charm attached his shirt to the chair. Keeping anyone from finding out what he'd done to himself for the next twenty-four hours, especially considering Hermione and Remus were coming, was going to be a bloody miracle.


	10. You Break It, You Buy It

Author's Disclaimer: HP – Still not mine.

Author's Note: So, no more promises from me on when stuff gets done. The gods laugh at my goals. But I'm still plugging through ATLB, as always.

As of this weekend, I'll be starting book 6, so by the time I post the next chapter, you will no longer need to shelter me. Thank you so much to everyone who has respected my wishes to remain spoiler-free. It has been greatly appreciated, and I eagerly look forward to diving head-first into book 6 with clear eyes and an open heart.

All That's Left Behind

**Chapter 10 – You Break It, You Buy It**

He awoke to the faintest buzzing sound, but opening his eyes to investigate felt like entirely too much effort. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls, and his ears were ringing.

"Harry Potter? It's time for breakfast. Time to wake up," the buzzing shifted into the gentle murmur of Dobby's voice right beside his face. Harry peeled one eye open and smiled weakly at the little elf.

"What time izzit?" Harry blearily asked. More than anything, he just wanted to sleep, but knew he still had a ruse to keep up with. He had no idea how he'd managed to get away with it so far, but knew he couldn't let his fatigue get the better of him now.

"Harry Potter must be at the kitchen table before everyone else, so no one sees how Harry Potter got there," Dobby said, and Harry already knew. With his face still mostly buried in the pillow, he nodded and tried to put his arms underneath his chest to push himself up, but didn't succeed. He still shook too much. What did he expect, though? Silverware last night had nearly been too heavy.

Wiry hands came from behind to wrap around the front of Harry's shoulders and flip him partially over as Dobby dragged him off the bed, his legs pulling the sheets uselessly behind him. He felt like a limp noodle as his arms flopped pathetically in an attempt to help. He was improving… Right?

"Let Dobby help Harry Potter get dressed, then we get some more potions and food in Harry Potter. Growing wizards must take care to eat right," the house-elf said, and Harry realized the last part could just as easily have been said by Mrs. Weasley. He closed his eyes briefly and refused to let his thoughts get away from him, but unfortunately, her face came vividly into view in all its uncomfortable and guilt-ridden glory. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dobby froze.

"Is Harry Potter doing all right?" Dobby whispered, almost fearfully.

"I'm good, Dobby. It's okay. I just remembered something," he said, and gently patted the hand still firmly wrapped around his shoulders.

It still astonished Harry how strong the house-elf was. He maneuvered Harry's limbs easily as he changed his clothes, making Harry feel a bit like a puppet with its strings cut. He'd given up pride yesterday, though. There was no way he'd be able to even try to fool the others without Dobby's help. He could barely fool himself into thinking he'd done the right thing. Whether he had or not was now immaterial, though.

"Well, aren't you up early! Good morning, Harry," Tonks said as she/he plopped down in the seat across from Harry in the kitchen.

"Uh," Harry said, his mouth hanging open, then snapped it shut again. A cup of hot tea appeared in front of Tonks, who grabbed it up with both hands and eagerly gulped.

"I'm glad to see you're back to your normal early bird habits," Tonks observed, not noticing that Harry had yet to say a word, though not for lack of trying.

"Um," Harry said, and eagerly turned his head towards Kingsley as a distraction, who was wearing a red satin plaid wrap-robe and black trousers underneath. It was the brightest thing he'd ever seen the Auror wear, and Harry couldn't decide if he liked it because it partially made Shacklebolt look vaguely like a pimp or in spite of it. _I must be tired_, Harry realized with distinct amusement.

"Tonks, you're scaring the boy," Kingsley rumbled as he sat beside her and smiled a toothy grin at Harry, which seemed unnaturally bright against his dark chocolate skin. His teeth were perfect. Perhaps a little too perfect, but Harry wasn't about to ask.

"What?" Tonks asked, distracted and looking like there'd been no pause between rolling out of bed and arriving in the kitchen.

"You have a bigger adam's apple than he does," Kingsley observed, and Harry snorted, nearly spitting tea out of the cup.

"Oh dear. Sorry, lad," she/he murmured as her/his features shifted into the feminine ones he was more familiar with. She also blushed brightly, and he idly wondered if that was something she could control if she wanted to as well. _What Ron wouldn't do to control blushes_, Harry thought with amusement.

"Moody'd have your hide," Kingsley said and grabbed up the cup of coffee that appeared on the setting before him.

"Well, he's a bit of a worry-wart," Tonks commented, then exclaimed, "Ah! Perfect!" brightly as breakfast appeared in front of them. Eggs, bacon and pancakes in equal proportions for all.

Harry eyed his plate nervously, both annoyed and amused that Dobby had insured there would be no way to disguise if he didn't eat as much as he normally did, then tucked in.

"I for one wouldn't want you to get stuck with that face," Kingsley volunteered after taking a bite of bacon.

"That's a myth! A myth!" Tonks cried with such emphasis that Harry nearly dropped his fork in surprise. She was definitely a bit mercurial this morning. "I've been a metamorphmagus long enough that my body's completely acclimatized to the magic. That _could_," Tonks emphasized the last word with air quotes, "happen – theoretically- with a rookie, but show me an actual case where it has and I'll eat my hat."

A baritone rumbling brought Harry's attention back to Kingsley, who was chuckling heartily. It softened his face, nearly making him look like someone else entirely, and Harry couldn't help but smile with him. It was the most relaxed he'd ever seen the man.

"Easy, Tonks. I'm just spinning you up," he said with his palms raised and took a hearty forkful of eggs.

"Well, pimp daddy, I wouldn't be throwing too many stones from my glass house if I were you," she said indignantly, and that just made the Auror laugh harder.

Harry laughed as well, amazed that even now he could. Even with Sirius gone and his life in complete flux. This was what he was fighting for. Good people, going on in spite of everything. He held that thought close to him, yet one more reminder of why not giving up was so important – only this time, his mind would recollect it all in perfect detail. _Finally, a perk_. He was all for that.

Nearly half an hour later, Harry was surprised to see he'd eaten a good portion of everything. Tonks got up from the table and reached across, tousling Harry's hair affectionately. Harry mock-swatted at her, then paused at the faint frown lines between her eyes.

"What?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"You're a little pale this morning. Are you feeling okay?" she asked. Harry felt his heart immediately begin to hammer against his chest and he had to fight the urge to swallow nervously.

"Fine. Why?" he asked and smiled, concentrating on looking as innocent and puzzled as he knew how to do – a trick he'd certainly had a lot of practice with at the Dursleys' – not that it ever did much good. Tonks put the back of her hand to his forehead, then flipped it and put her fingertips against his skin. He nearly jumped at the contact.

"What's the verdict?" Kingsley asked as he too began to scrutinize Harry.

"No fever," she said and bit the side of her cheek absently.

"I stayed up a bit late reading," Harry offered, trying to sound helpful. "And I don't think I've seen daylight in weeks." Kingsley snorted and pushed in his chair, apparently satisfied at Harry's response.

"I let it slide this time, Potter," Tonks said teasingly, her own concerns evidently eased, "But Granger's coming by a bit later, and I'll instruct her to keep a close eye on you. We wouldn't want any funny business," she said, and in that moment morphed her face to look like Moody. Harry did swallow heavily then, and knew he was a bit wild eyed as Tonks waved at his plate and began to head for the stairs. She'd even managed to make one eye go in all directions. "Finish up. You're a growing boy, and you really need to eat more," she said and smiled. It would have been more reassuring if it weren't still partially Moody's face morphing back into her own.

"I didn't know you could do that," Kingsley murmured as they both headed upstairs.

"It took a lot of practice to get the eye right," she said mischievously.

"Does Mad Eye know you can do that?" he asked.

"I may be an Auror, but I don't have a death wish," were her parting words before the door closed behind her, leaving Harry at the table alone. He sat there for a good forty-five minutes before Dobby finally appeared.

He'd nibbled on the remainder of his food and was beginning to regret it as he listlessly flipped through yet another forbidden Black book. His mind might be recording things, but he was still exhausted, and knew he'd need a good long nap to prepare for Hermione's arrival. He wouldn't be able to fool her nearly as easily.

"Harry?" a feminine voice whispered in his ear. Something tickled his cheek, so absently he swatted at it. The back of his hand contacted with something that didn't in the least feel like Buckbeak.

"Hey!" the voice exclaimed, and Harry opened his eyes. Hermione was sitting beside him with a hand held against her cheek, her expression pretty evenly divided between irritation and surprise.

"Whoops. Sorry about that," Harry said bemusedly and pushed himself up. The couple of hours he'd napped were obviously just what he'd needed. His arms barely even trembled as he sat up. _Finally_. _Progress_.

"Hardly," she said with a shake of her head and a subtle roll of her eyes, then quirked her lip and gave him a firm hug. "I was glad to get your letter." Harry absently patted her arm as it snaked around his neck and partially choked him.

"I'm sorry it took so long to write," he squeaked, making her immediately let go of him and blush slightly.

"I'll just let you breathe now," she said apologetically, and bumped her shoulder against his as she settled in beside him.

"I appreciate that," Harry replied and smiled. _Here we go_. Already he could see Hermione scrutinizing him, and the more she looked, the more she evidently didn't like what she saw.

"Merlin, Harry. Are you feeling okay?" she asked after a moment, and Harry nodded.

"I do that, too," he said, scrambling for something to distract her. Hermione frowned.

"What are you talking about?" she questioned, puzzled.

"Your parents must think it odd when you say that. _Merlin_, that is," he observed, and oddly, Hermione giggled.

"I've got them saying it now. Their patients must think they're losing their minds."

"And yet Ron says _bloody_ all the time."

"Ah, but I can easily picture Mr. Weasley coming home one day with a list of Muggle curse words to share with his family," Hermione said with a conspiratorial smirk, reaching out to pat the top of Buckbeak's head.

The hippogriff had settled on the floor beside the bed, and kept flopping his neck to the side and laying the side of his beak on the comforter cover near Harry's knee.

"Tonks says you spend a lot of time up here," she prompted as she focused on scratching underneath one of Buckbeak's cheekbones.

"I know he's lonely, and watch where his eyes go once you stop scratching him," Harry said. Dutifully, Hermione pulled her hand away. The hippogriff watched her for a moment, waiting to see if she'd start petting him again, then sighed heavily and turned to stare at the door.

"Does he do that all the time?" she asked, her voice sad. "You don't think he's waiting for S…?"

"No," Harry cut in before she could finish her sentence. "Next time when you come in, pay attention to where he's looking. I know it's supposed to be all about respect and courtesy with hippogriffs, but I think Buckbeak's more interested in what's beyond the door than us anymore."

"Is he ever let outside?" Hermione whispered, clearly stricken. Harry shook his head.

"And if he doesn't get a chance to fly soon, he might not ever be able to again," he said, and proceeded to repeat what Remus had told him.

"Oh no! Harry, we can't let that happen!" Hermione said, horrified. It still made him burn with anger every time he thought of what Kreacher had done to the hippogriff, and what the warped house-elf had clearly intended it to symbolize.

"I know," Harry said after a hesitation. He knew she cared deeply about Buckbeak, but he couldn't help the lingering resentment over her defense of Kreacher. She caught sight of his expression, and her lip began to tremble.

"I owe you an apology," she said quietly.

"For what?" Harry asked, unwilling to make it easy for her. She might have good intentions, but sometimes her zeal for a cause left her overlooking the obvious.

"I'm not sorry for feeling bad for what his life must have been like, Harry, but I am sorry for putting my pity for him above my friendship to you."

"I'm sorry. That was an apology?" Harry asked, surprised at how quickly his hackles rose at her statement. "So, what…? You think it was okay for him to talk to Sirius the way he did? That Sirius deserved what happened to him because of the part he possibly could have played with how that evil little house-elf was treated?"

"Harry…" Hermione protested, but he would hear none of it.

"Let me get this straight… Because what you're saying is that it's okay if someone does something evil if they've had a traumatized past? That it justifies things?" he demanded.

"Of course not," Hermione objected, eyes wide with surprise at Harry's angry tone.

"You can't be naïve enough to think Dobby had it any easier in the Malfoy home, Hermione, and he's the most noble house-elf I've ever had the privilege to meet. Just because Kreacher had it bad doesn't excuse anything he's done!"

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to upset you, and I promise that I wasn't trying to make excuses," Hermione said. It had sure sounded like it to him. He had to consciously take several deep breaths to calm himself. He hadn't meant to let his temper get away from him, but he was still worn down, and didn't seem to have his normal threshold of patience with Hermione's idiosyncrasies.

"Are you okay? Because you're not looking too healthy right now, and judging by your reaction to what I said, you seem a bit…" here she paused, reluctant to continue, although it didn't stop her, "Short tempered."

"What do you want me to say, Hermione?" Harry snapped, reacting automatically. Sometimes the best defense was a good offense, anyway. "That I'm fine? Sirius is dead. The very thing I set about trying to stop from happening is ultimately what I caused. How am I doing? I'm thrilled I'm not doing worse," he replied with candor.

Even as he defended himself, though, part of him did have to wonder just how well he was doing. Was the course he'd chosen for himself a rational one? He certainly hoped so. It certainly seemed logical at the time. Hermione scooted slightly away from him on the bed, her face screwed up in an expression he didn't recognize.

"Okay. That's good. Thank you, Harry," she said after a pause, as if trying to regroup.

"For what?"

"For being honest," she said, and it made him want to groan in frustration. He adored Hermione, he really did, but sometimes it seemed like her intellect could get in the way of… pretty much everything else.

"Do you have any idea how trite that sounds?" Harry asked abruptly. Thank Merlin Hermione at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "Why don't you quit trying to be my psychiatrist and go back to being my friend?"

Hermione's lip trembled for a moment, but then she took a deep breath and let it out, trying to force her lips into a smile. "I deserved that," she said ruefully, after a pause.

"I really need your help," Harry said earnestly and absently patted the hippogriff's head. "I know if Sirius were alive he'd be heartbroken if he found out Buckbeack could never fly again."

Harry had never felt as hopeful as the day they'd saved both Sirius and the hippogriff's life. Anything was possible back then, and oh, how he'd longed to fly away with them. Abruptly Hermione stood up and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked, surprised.

"I brought those Ministry legal books you asked for. I'll be right back. Between the two of us I'm sure we can hatch a plan to get Beaky out of here," she said, and shut the door quickly behind her.

Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief and flopped back on the bed, startling Buckbeak, who stood up quickly and looked around attentively.

"Sorry, guy. It's just me," Harry soothed, and had to smother a laugh. Suddenly, inspiration hit. "Dobby?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby asked, instantly at his side. He had a dish towel in his hand and was wringing it rather tightly.

"Are you okay?" he asked the house-elf. The house-elf's eyes filled with tears that began to slide down his face, but oddly his expression was… almost peaceful.

"Dobby heard what Harry Potter thinks of him," he said softly. Harry smiled gently.

"That's all right, isn't it? It doesn't bother you, does it?" Harry asked quietly. Dobby shook his head in sharp rapid jerks.

"Dobby knew Harry Potter saved the Wizarding world from evil as a baby, but Dobby realizes now that that was just a story. The real thing is so much better. Harry Potter doesn't just save the world, he saves disloyal house-elves who get Harry Potter hurt," he said gently.

"Well, I couldn't just leave you with him, now could I?" Harry tried weakly to joke. He was beginning to feel a bit watery-eyed himself.

"Dobby would have died eventually at Master Malfoy's command," the house-elf said without emotion. At the word '_eventually'_, Harry shivered. "Life-debts carry a great deal of weight in Harry Potter's world. But life isn't as precious to Dobby as freedom is, and Harry Potter has given Dobby that as well. Such gifts, so freely given, can never be repaid, and for that, Dobby is thankful," he said cryptically.

Harry frowned and realized he had no idea what to say to that, so he was vaguely relieved to hear Hermione's quick steps rapidly climbing the stairs to return to the room. Harry smiled apologetically and leaned forward so he could talk in a near whisper.

"Can you bring dinner here tonight for Hermione and I? That way we don't have to worry about smuggling me in to the kitchen."

"Certainly, Harry Potter, but only if you promise to clean your plate," Dobby said, and Harry had to smile.

"You drive a hard bargain," he said warmly, and for a second he thought Dobby might have blushed before he disappeared.

He only had to make it until tonight. Then, the most obvious traces of the spell would no longer be blatant to anyone who cared to look. He'd managed to deflect the majority of Hermione's scrutiny – he still was not sure how he managed to do that, and was beginning to feel positively Slytherin, which wasn't necessarily a good thing, but who was he to judge any longer?

Dobby brought dinner quite early, which puzzled Harry until he realized they'd skipped lunch. He knew his luck was beginning to run out because as the day progressed Hermione kept glancing his way with more and more concerned looks. His glamour spell was fading, and if he appeared even a fraction as ill as he still felt, he knew it couldn't be good.

Not that he wasn't improving minute by minute. He was finally starting to get a handle on how to manage the memory flashes so they didn't completely override everything else, which was of considerable relief. It would have been horribly ironic and just his luck if he'd gone to the trouble of having an amazing memory that ultimately ended up incapacitating him every time he tried to utilize it.

Sighing, he reached out and grabbed another book from the pile that Hermione had scattered on the bed around them. He'd encountered another drawback to the spell that was proving decidedly annoying and was trying to figure out a way to incorporate ways around it.

Even in the Wizarding world, it appeared one couldn't escape legalese. Even after rereading the same things multiple times, he realized he had absolutely no clue what it meant – just that he could repeat it verbatim.

"So…" he began.

"Shhhh," Hermione interrupted without looking up from the book she was reading, waving a hand. "Almost done." Harry waited while she read, watching as her eyes skipped across the page so fast it almost looked like it should have caused her a headache. Absently, Harry grabbed a roll from the basket beside the dinner tray and buttered it. He loved whipped butter.

"Are you done yet?" Harry asked after a second, and had to suppress a slight grin. He was beginning to see what Ron might get out of pushing Hermione's buttons. Keeping her distracted and slightly defensive seemed to also be keeping the focus off of him, so he was happy to keep it up. Not to mention it was oddly amusing.

"Not yet, Harry," she said with irritation.

Harry nibbled on the roll and tapped his finger against his teacup idly. Her right eyebrow was beginning to twitch slightly.

"Ooooooh," Hermione said in exasperation, and slammed the book closed. "You are being such a pain," she said, then paused, scrutinizing Harry's face.

"What?" Harry asked innocently.

"You're enjoying this!" she asked, and oddly her mouth began to quirk.

"What? Me? No!" Harry protested through his mouthful of food.

"If I find out you've been getting pointers from Ron, looking pathetic won't save you from my wrath," she said and tossed the book to the side with a groan.

He suspected that she was getting as annoyed with the Ministry verbiage as he was. She was normally much gentler with books. She reached across for a roll, only lathering it with jam instead of butter, and took a healthy bite.

"I wouldn't do that," Harry protested with an innocent face, causing Hermione to snort.

"I'll bet. So, what have you found so far?" she asked between mouthfuls.

"That there really need to be translator spells for legalese," Harry replied without a pause. Hermione nearly choked on her roll for a moment, then got a speculative look on her face.

"You probably could…" she said.

"Maybe there's already one?" Harry suggested. Hermione shook her head.

"No, I wrote a research paper on how translator spells work once, and I'm sure I would remember seeing mention of something like that," she said. "They're for word re-application and not designed for when someone's being deliberately obtuse."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm beginning to feel a bit daunted. I thought if we could find legal rulings that might be applicable to Buckbeak that we'd be fine. I'm beginning to see that for each case settled a specific way, there's an equal and opposite case that holds just as much weight," Harry said with a faint grimace. "Which means we'd be at the mercy of whoever's hearing our appeal…"

"Which means we've been wasting our time," Hermione agreed.

"Yeah, that's what I'm starting to think as well."

"As long as Fudge and his cronies are in charge, there's no way Buckbeak's going to get any sort of retrial or appeal," Hermione said, her lip curling with distaste as she said Fudge's name.

"Hey, that's okay, Hermione. I really didn't expect to find anything, but felt like I had to try," Harry tried to reassure his friend. Her eyes were beginning to glisten suspiciously as she moved the basket of rolls further away from the hippogriff's roving beak.

Harry had almost fed Buckbeak some of his chicken, but Dobby's sudden appearance behind Hermione's back stopped him. The little house-elf's eyes were narrowed in disapproval, and Harry found himself blushing. Hermione frowned when she noticed his expression, and turned to look over her shoulder, but by then, Dobby was gone. Harry had guiltily cleaned his plate after that.

"So… You want to try to smuggle him out of London? Get Charlie in on it again?" Hermione asked, referring to their previous encounter with helping Hagrid find a home for his baby dragon.

"Ron already asked him," Harry said. "Charlie's found a herd in Spain that's in need of…" here he paused.

"Of what?" Hermione asked.

"Stallions," Harry replied, slightly mortified.

"Go Buckbeak," Hermione said with an approving nod. Harry had to hide his face.

"Please, Hermione. There are some things we just shouldn't talk about. This is one of them," he said, horrified.

"What? My grandfather's best friend used to work at Chelsthelm Stallion Stud. When we visited them, sometimes my granddad could get us free tickets to the races," she said with a soft smile. Harry knew he was looking at her like she'd grown a third eye.

"What? I do have a life outside of reading, you know," she scolded in response to his expression. Harry raised both his hands defensively.

"I never said a thing," he said. Hermione wrinkled her nose at him, and he smiled a little in response.

"So, Charlie's got someplace where Buckbeak will be happy. Now all we have to do is find a way to get him there," she said, getting back to business.

"Except that with the Ministry being in London and there being no way for the Minister to continue to deny Voldemort's back, there were a whole array of additional detector spells added in June. Spells designed specifically to alert officials if unlicensed magical creatures are flying about," Harry said.

"Really?" Hermione asked in surprise. Harry nodded.

"As of several months ago. I read about it last week. Fudge put them in place at the beginning of the holidays," he explained.

"Only because the worthless snivel is afraid something might go after him," she said angrily.

"Ah, but you see, that doesn't make sense, does it?" Harry said with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"If someone's going to attack the Ministry by air, wouldn't it make more sense to do it by broomstick? Hippogriffs and other magical creatures are notoriously hard to control, after all. They could get spooked and throw their rider in a duel," he explained.

"That does sound more practical," she agreed, frowning.

"So, other than sensors for bigger magical creatures like dragons, why put something more detailed in place?" Harry prompted. Hermione paled.

"Because Voldemort knows Buckbeak's stuck at Black Manor?" she asked, suddenly anxious.

"It makes sense to me."

"But that means Fudge…?" Hermione began to ask, but then let her sentence fade. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. Even with Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban, there still could be a lot of other Death Eaters at the Ministry who might have influence with Fudge," Harry said, resigned. As far as he was concerned, Fudge was evil. Whether he was aligned with Voldemort or not really didn't influence Harry's opinion of the man.

He leaned back against the pillows piled against the bed frame with a sigh. He was definitely losing steam fast. He took another sip of tea and looked at Hermione from underneath lowered lashes. His luck was beginning to run out.

"So, can someone get a permit to bring a magical animal into the city?" Harry asked.

"I think so," Hermione said with a frown, and reached halfway across the bed to grab a reference text buried beneath several others. Immediately she started riffling through the pages with a small frown line between her brows.

"If we could find some reason to get a permit to bring animals into the city, maybe we could figure out a sneaky way to exchange them and get Buckbeak out. Once he's outside the city limits, Charlie shouldn't have any problems getting him out of the country," Harry said, speculatively.

"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed, making Harry startle. "Sorry," she said contritely. "It says we can."

"So all we need is an excuse to bring magical animals into the city," Harry said, regrouping.

"What would it be for?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know. Is there a Wizarding zoo? Something like that?"

"There is, but I don't think there's anyone we could influence to help us with requesting licenses," Hermione replied.

"True. Okay. So who else could use magical creatures? An animal hospital?"

"I doubt they have to request licenses, but it's still probably monitored," Hermione said.

"That makes sense. So what we need is an excuse for magical creatures to be brought in… Maybe some sort of premier? Or a parade?" Harry asked.

"Or a grand opening?" Hermione said with a slow, spreading grin.

"From two lads with a vested interest in thwarting Fudge at every turn," Harry said, nodding with approval and grinning widely himself.

"Perfect. It's perfect. So how could we do this?" Hermione asked.

"If you transfigured something smaller into a hippogriff, would it register with the sensors? Or would they be able to tell that it wasn't really a larger magical creature?"

"It might, but even if it doesn't, I think it'd be easy enough to spell it to register. After all, the Ministry probably doesn't expect someone to _want_ an animal to show up on the sensors – only to _not_ appear," Hermione supplied.

"Right. Perfect. And we've got McGonagall, who's ace at transfiguration. All we'd need to do is find a way to have the animals brought in through a flight path that takes them directly overhead, and it should be able to work," Harry said, finally feeling like they'd finally accomplished something.

"It could work!" Hermione agreed, and was about to say something else but broke off her sentence when the door opened and Remus slowly walked in. He automatically bowed to Buckbeak, who lowered his own head politely before returning his attention to cleaning his feathers, which he'd started to do in the past half hour.

"Remus!" Harry said with a smile that immediately began to falter. His former professor definitely looked fragile. His face was newly scarred and pale, but that wasn't what caused Harry's face to fall. It was the look in his eyes.

"Merlin, Harry, are you alright? What's wrong?" Remus asked, immediately rushing to Harry's side. Hermione looked ashamed for not pushing the topic herself.

"He ate most of his dinner," she volunteered. His former professor gently put a hand to Harry's forehead, checking for a temperature, and frowned.

"I'm fine, professor. I've just had a hard time sleeping," he protested lamely. He couldn't think of what else might explain how he guessed he must look. "How are you doing? Was it any better this time?" he asked, trying to deflect some of Remus' attention.

"I know it doesn't look like it, but it was," Remus said gently, and put the palm of his hand to the side of Harry's cheek tenderly. Was he checking his temperature? Because that gesture was awfully… gentle. It was nice.

"I'm glad," Harry replied, and realized that even if it meant discovery, he _was_ really relieved to have Remus back. He'd missed the man's company, even with Tonks and Kingsley still there.

"I'm going to firecall for Poppy to come by later, Harry," he said, and glanced at the books strewn over the bed.

"What are you doing? We can get that. I'm feeling fine," Harry protested, as Remus began to gather the books up. Hermione immediately stood up to help him.

"You don't look fine, and I'd rather hear it from a professional," he said with a wink. Harry smiled weakly.

It hadn't occurred to him how quickly Remus would realize that something was off. He probably should have known better. Hopefully Madam Pomfrey was busy, so it would take a while, but realistically, he knew that wouldn't happen. She'd most likely be there within the hour.

"Do you think you could try to get some sleep?" Remus asked. Harry nodded, then realized there was no way he was ready yet to even try to walk. Though he was feeling better, he was still a long way from fine.

"Could I stay here?" Harry asked, not having to work to look pathetic.

"Of course you can," Remus said with a warm smile, and grabbed a quilt folded up in the corner to lie over his legs. Thankfully Harry was already leaning against pillows, so he didn't have to move at all. Was this all luck, or was Dobby just that good at anticipating things?

"Get some rest," he said, patting Harry's shoulder affectionately.

Hermione leaned over, the books clutched tightly against her chest and whispered, "I'll talk to the twins tonight." Harry nodded. It really was a good plan.

"Dobby?" Remus called out, and abruptly the dinner dishes disappeared from the bed. "Never mind," the werewolf said with a rueful smile.

"He's just that good," Harry said, and meant it in more ways than one.

"Sleep, Harry," Remus said. Hermione waved as she took a handful of books she'd set aside and scampered out of the room. "Nox," Remus whispered, and Harry was left in the dark with Buckbeak. He closed his eyes and prayed for fireplaces to get busy signals.

Tbc…


End file.
